


Bound to Burn

by LarasLandlockedBlues, WindySuspirations



Series: Lightning Struck [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, And Pining Oh Maker the Pining, Confident Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Smut, Cullen is Not Fumbly, Cullenlingus, Dom/Sub Ultralite, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Growly Cullen, Idiots in Love, Joint Fic, Let's Have Fun With Tropes, Loss of Virginity, Lots of Positive Consent, Mutual Pining, New Tag I Call It, No Slow Burn Here, Not Canon Compliant, Not really praise kink just lots of praise, POV Cullen Rutherford, POV Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Praise, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Sweet Cullen Rutherford, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This fic is pure fun, We Should Trademark That, also tag all the things, and some dirty talk, crazy tags, lots of misunderstandings, what is tagging?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-04-27 04:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14417820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarasLandlockedBlues/pseuds/LarasLandlockedBlues, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindySuspirations/pseuds/WindySuspirations
Summary: A trip to Redcliffe to make reparations for the Mage Rebellion brings more complications than expected when rooms run short and the naive Inquisitor finds herself in close quarters with the man she can't possibly ever have - her smirking Commander.





	1. Undisclosed Desires

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our little sekrit pet project!
> 
> Lara is writing Evelyn, [art here](https://78.media.tumblr.com/9f0b646f1a7455947fb903c915d39ece/tumblr_p3lda97jF91ucqxg4o1_1280.jpg).  
> Windy is writing Cullen.
> 
> Buckle up, we're going to have fun with the Sharing a Bed trope as well as some others/kinks. We hope you enjoy this fun smutty, not-so-slow-burn fic that we've been cooking up in sekrit!!!
> 
> xx,  
> Lara & Windy

The carriage jostles and Evelyn reaches out with a hand to brace against the side wall, closing her eyes for a moment as she steadies herself.

How many days have they been traveling?

Everything has blurred together, the days spent in the carriage, the nights spent at their makeshift camp. Her sleep has been restless in her tent, still not quite used to traveling, even after all of this time. Ever since she left the Ostwick Circle, ever since she came down to Ferelden to attend the Conclave, her life has been a disaster. Yet before all of that, she’d never been anywhere else or even traveled.

Just one trip – her family’s estate to the Circle.

That was all.

Now she’s nearly getting bruised with all of these days in a carriage – she almost wishes she was back on a horse, like all those weeks spent in the Hinterlands.

This is all so new, all so odd for her, and she just wishes she could adjust faster. Years and years at the Circle, however, haven’t prepared her for this. Being locked away with nothing to do but study magic and read books was nothing to ready her for life beyond Ostwick’s walls. Her hands are still too soft, only made for turning pages – though they’re becoming more worn from the fighting and herb collecting she’s been doing.

“Are you all right, Inquisitor?”

The deep voice cuts across the noise of the horse’s hooves and the wheels of the carriage, and she jumps when she hears it. She’s almost folded in on herself, her hands clasped in her lap and her knees held tightly together as they sway with the movements of the coach. Trying to avoid touching him is taking all of her effort, sitting stiffly so that she doesn’t bump into him or rest against him at all.

He’s so large – even though he’s sitting across from her he’s taking up most of the available space, simply because he does. His legs are spread so that they’re not resting right against hers, but it means that she’s sitting between his knees – trapped and cornered like a little bird, just like Dorian always calls her.

“I’m – I’m fine,” she almost squeaks, and she hates how shy her voice sounds.

The Commander sighs and she can see out of the corner of her eyes that he raises a hand to his forehead and rubs it. He’s seemed irritated this whole trip, folding his arms across his chest and glaring out the window all day.  His cheeks flex before he nods and looks away from the furtive, sidelong glance he was giving her.

She wishes she knew what was wrong, but she can’t bring herself to ask.

He seems even larger than normal in his armor in this enclosed space, and between his long legs, bulky armor, and the massive sword and shield he has propped against the seat beside him – she has hardly any space to breathe.

_You must ride with the Commander, should the caravan come under attack, Josephine had insisted. We cannot spare you, Inquisitor._

“You’ve – you’ve spent plenty of time in this part of Ferelden, what – what do you think of it?” he asks suddenly, and she snaps her gaze up to his. Golden amber eyes are boring into hers, with an intensity in them that she can’t explain.

They’ve spoken many times outside of their duties in the war room. Back at Haven she used to watch him train the recruits, observing eagerly as he shouted orders and commands to shape the farmhands into soldiers for the Inquisition. She was intrigued by him, wanting to see his methods and progress as he acted as the Commander. Some days she could hardly take her eyes off him, even though it took her so long to figure out why.

He had even sought her out sometimes at the end of the day to speak with her, as if he was trying to get to know her. Their talks were amicable, if not a bit stilted as Evelyn tried to get over her hesitancy to speak with a Templar.

_Mage. Templar._

She’s still been trying to think of them as more beyond that – after all, he’s said it himself – he’s no longer a part of the Order.

It’s almost curious the way he’s looking at her as he waits for an answer, and then she remembers what he said, she recalls where the Kirkwall-tainted accent is originally from. He’s from Ferelden – and she notices an incredibly curious gleam in his eye as he waits for her answer his question.

“I – I like it well enough, considering how much time I spent here not long ago,” she answers meekly, and then clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. His close proximity is still setting her on edge. “I saw so much violence in the area, though. It’s hard to think about heading here for reparations, for peaceful talks, because we were actually invited and welcome.”

“Yes – of course, I’m sorry,” he nods and looks out the window. “I remember reading your reports, I should have thought…”

An awkward silence engulfs them as he trails off. It’s not the first one of this entire trip – how many days have they sat in this carriage together, trying to make conversation and failing?

There was a time when this was easy, but now…

She sighs and glances out the window, and from a distance she almost thinks she can see –

“Is that Kinloch?” she asks almost eagerly, thinking maybe at last there’s something for them to discuss.

His brows furrow and his cheeks clench, his arms looking as if they tighten where they’re folded across his chest. “Yes, it is.”

She frowns a little at his short answer, confused because she thought he would elaborate. “You – you were there during the Blight, weren’t you? Did you fight any darkspawn?”

“I – I would rather not speak of that time,” he answers, and his voice is clipped, short and irritated.

“I – I’m sorry, I just,” she swallows hard and avoids his gaze, heat coming to her cheeks when she realizes she must have misspoken. Again. “I’ve only heard the stories, I thought maybe – I’m sorry -”

“Maker’s breath,” he sighs and she can see out of the corner of her eye that he raises his hand to rub his temples once more.

“I was only just barely at the Ostwick Circle then – after one of the only – the only other times I’ve traveled,” she says softly. She isn’t sure why she’s still trying to talk about it; he’s clearly annoyed, and obviously doesn’t want to speak with her any longer. It’s like she’s rambling though, unable to resist saying more – her nerves make her continue despite herself.

“You – you said you were taken to the Circle at seven?” he asks, and his amber eyes swivel to fixate on her.

“Yes, I was,” she answers, her voice low and barely more than a whisper.

She looks down, suddenly avoiding his piercing gaze. They’ve spoken about the Circle before but each time felt fragile, as if either of them could break at any moment. It’s so odd, discussing it with a Templar, even a former one. It gives them so many shared experiences – and yet it still feels like they’re from completely different worlds.

“Do – do you still have family in Honnleath? That’s not far from here, is it?” she asks, chancing a glance up. When she sees how closely he’s watching her she looks away again and tightens her clasped hands to stop their shaking.

She hadn’t been this nervous around him before, in fact she’d almost gotten quite comfortable in his presence. She still would be if she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself the day before they left.

_We should spend more time together. I miss our chats like we had at Haven._

_I’d like that._

_Me too._

_You said that._

She feels her stomach twist when she thinks about how much she had stuttered over her words, how flustered she had been. The look he’d given her – she’s still mortified when she pictures it, when she thinks about how she’d felt like he could see through her. Or like he was mocking her, laughing at her when he smirked at the way she’d repeated herself.

_You said that._

“No – not any longer, my – my family moved to South Reach, after the Blight,” the Commander answers, and she nods in response without looking at him.

“O-of course, you told me that,” she laughs at herself, feeling foolish. He’d said it over their chess game, and she presses her lips together and shakes her head as she remembers and chides herself for her slip.

She suddenly wishes she’d just been able to ride in the carriage with Dorian, instead of having to spend so much time in awkward silence with the Commander. Between her slip of an admission that she was glad he had survived Haven – followed by embarrassing herself over chess – she wishes she could sink back into the seat of the carriage and disappear forever.

“Are you certain you are all right? You look flushed, are you ill?” he asks, and when she looks up at him she sees a concerned frown etched on his face.

“I-I’m fine, really, I’m just – still not used to traveling for this long,” she lies quickly.

“Well, we should be making camp soon, and we will arrive in Redcliffe tomorrow,” he tells her, shifting slightly on his seat. As he does his knees close a bit, coming nearer to hers and she feels her breath catch in her throat.

“Maker’s breath, why they did not let me ride my horse,” he grumbles under his breath.

Despite herself, she giggles at his vexation and he seems to scowl when he hears her. His exasperated sigh reminds her of so many hours spent in the war room arguing, planning, and directing the Inquisition together. But then she thinks of the way she always tries to covertly watch him, admiring the confidence he possesses to lead their forces, soaking in the warmth she always feels emanating from him.

Templars, in her experience, were always cold, distant – and she did everything she could to avoid them in the Circle, to stay out of their way and not draw their attention. Yet even knowing he was a Templar, she just can’t help but feel drawn to him. He’s so warm, so intriguing. Before her realization that she cared for him as Haven fell apart, though, she was actually able to speak with him. Now, every time she tries she trips over her words and makes herself out to be a complete fool.

She misses their camaraderie, from their early days in Haven when they spoke in the evening after he trained the Inquisition’s forces. He’d even given her a knife before she left for the Hinterlands, asking her to keep it with her in case she needed it to stay safe.

And at Skyhold, when they’d first spoken – he’d grabbed her arm and promised he’d do better. That he’d protect her and wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

The words and the tone of his voice had cut her to the core, especially considering everything she’d realized when she thought she would die to protect everyone at Haven.

She sighs and stares back out the window, watching the countryside of Ferelden pass by. It’s ridiculous of her to even entertain the idea that her Commander could care about her too. He’s older, he’s seen more of life – Evelyn’s only known the Circle and her studies. The most interesting thing that ever happened to her was nearly dying in the Conclave.

 _This_ – this life, suddenly full of rifts, demons, plots to destroy Thedas that somehow only she can stand against – it’s overwhelming to her. Some days, all she wants is to crack, to break down and confess that she can’t handle any of this.

She feels alone and overwhelmed under the weight of her burdens.

It doesn’t help that her mind keeps wandering, that she keeps thinking about the man sitting across from her.

She has nothing to offer him, though, and would be wise to forget her silly girlish dreams that the handsome Commander of the Inquisition could care for her in return.


	2. The Angel Opens Her Eyes

Night birds call to one another and flit from branch to branch in the trees around the Inquisition camp and the twin moons hang low in the sky, shimmering white on the waters of Lake Calenhad. It is a peaceful night, or at least it would be if he could get her out of his mind.

The Inquisitor’s laughter brings his eyes up from his maps to land on her and Dorian. Look at them, sitting so close to each other. He watches the two mages whisper to each other, and then the Tevinter raises the Inquisitor's small hand to his lips and makes her giggle again.

Why in the Void can’t she be so easy with him? His mouth twists in a snarl, and he almost crushes the parchment in his hands as he shifts on the log he is sitting on across the fire from them. He grinds his back teeth and inhales through his nose. All his muscles are tied in knots, they have been since they started this Maker damned journey.

He glances at the pair again and glowers at them. His frown deepens when Dorian catches his eye and smirks knowingly as he wraps his sleeveless arm around the Inquisitor and pulls her into his embrace, murmuring something to her that sounds like “—ittle bird.”

Cullen pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales a long sigh. Had he misread her so completely? He thought that they had a nice time playing chess that day in the gardens. They flirted a little; she said she wanted to spend more time with him. But the way she has been acting with him during this journey. She is so bloody skittish, and he can only wonder why.

Is it him? Certainly, he’s tried to make conversation. Perhaps he could have handled himself better this afternoon when she pointed out Kinloch. He closes his eyes and winces, biting back a groan. Maker, he acted the boor, hadn’t he?.

And Dorian! Maker’s breath, the man practically shoved him toward the girl. And now — and now it looks like he is currying favor with her himself! And Cullen can only sit here and watch. Growling, he gets to his feet, dropping his maps onto the ground.

“Commander?” the Inquisitor asks from within the shelter of the Tevinter’s arms, “is everything all right?”

“I — yes, it’s fine,” he stoops to aggressively pick up the spilled parchment. “I—I  must — secure the perimeter before bed. Good night Inquisitor,  Dorian,” he nods at them curtly and turns to stalk away.

After dropping off his maps at his tent and grabbing fresh linen and his sleep trousers, he heads for the lake, nodding at the soldiers he passes on his way. A quick dip in the placid waters of Lake Calenhad should clear his head.

Stripping off all his clothes, he wades into the chilly waters and dunks his head, welcoming the coldness on his hot flesh. He swims along the shore for a bit, his strong, sure strokes cutting efficiently through the water. After a few more paces, he smoothly reverses direction and smiles as he remembers the races he, Mia, and Branson used to have in the lake near their home.

The exertion and the bracing chill of the water calm his mind somewhat, and soon he stops swimming in favor of turning over in the water and floating on his back. As he stares up at the multitude of stars in the night sky, he can’t help but recall how like starshine her unusual eyes are. A man could lose himself in those eyes if he isn’t careful.

Then he thinks of her hands, so small and soft. Maker, he can completely engulf her hands in one of his. Such a small woman to hold the fate of all of Thedas in her marked palm.  His heart clenches as he recalls how she almost died at Haven. If he — they lost her, what would they do?

Back on the shore, Cullen dries himself off quickly and slips on his sleep trousers. He yawns expansively as he winds his way back to camp and his bedroll. Maybe tonight he’ll actually be able to get some sleep.

“Hey, Curly what happened to you?” drawls Varric from his position seated on a barrel next to his tent, “did Sparkles tell you that you stink?”

Cullen rolls his eyes. “Not another word, dwarf,” he growls as he walks by. He’d correct him on that stupid nickname he’d insisted on bestowing upon him, but at present, it would take more energy than he has.

Bed. He needs his bed and just one good night’s sleep. Maker, is that too much to ask?

 

* * *

 

Morning comes much too soon, and with it, the tasks of packing up camp and organizing everything for the final day of travel  — thank the Maker! Cullen does not think he would last another day sharing a carriage with the Inquisitor.

When he boards the carriage, the Inquisitor is already there but has retreated to the far corner. He can’t help but notice how she flinches at the slight rocking him settling his bulk upon his seat causes. He frowns.

“Inquisitor, are you alright?

“Wh — what?” she fidgets and plays with the end of her braid.”Y-yes, I’m fine.”

He nearly scoffs because despite her protestations,  there is a tremor in her voice that he doesn’t like. Maker’s breath, is she that frightened of him? A cold dread seeps into his bones at the thought.

He wants to say something else, something to reassure her, but a voice just outside the carriage captures his attention. His eyes slide toward her as he deals with the soldier, watching with dismay as her gaze flits around the carriage and through the window — anywhere but at him.

As the carriage gets underway, he takes a moment to survey her more closely. She looks as put-together as ever, but have her cheeks lost a bit of their color? Yes — yes he thinks they have. And her eyes, usually sparkling with good humor, seem duller.

He clears his throat. “Um — have —have you been sleeping well during our journey?”

Pale eyes meet golden amber and then look away. “I — I’ve been sleeping fine, Commander. And you?”

“Passingly well,” he rejoins, allowing a slight smile to cross his lips. “It will be strange for you, will it not, to see Redcliffe Castle again after your adventures there?”

Her eyes land on his hands resting on his spread knees, before rising to his lips and then away. Her cheeks flush with color. “I-I suppose.”

Cullen raises one honey-colored eyebrow. Now, that gesture he can’t have mistaken. The way her eyes brushed across his body and up to his lips like that. He rubs his forehead. How this woman bedevils him with confusion!

“Well,” he tries again, offering her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Maker, they didn’t teach him the finer points of wooing young noble ladies in Templar training. “I am certain that you will find the accommodations at the Castle much more comfortable than your bedroll.”

Starshine eyes rise to briefly meet his golden amber ones before landing on the window, gazing at the passing Ferelden countryside and the vast waters of the lake stretching away for miles in either direction.

“I — I didn’t find your bedroll so uncomfortable, “ she babbles out and then flushes red and seems to fold in on herself, clinging to her side of the carriage as if it’s the edge of a cliff. "That — that is, I meant —“

“Maker’s breath, it’s fine,” he interrupts her helpless stammering, the throb of a headache starting behind his eyes. “I know what you meant.”

Cullen leans his head back against the squabs and sighs. 

_Shit._

A muscle in his cheek flexes as he observes her through slitted eyes. The girl looks simply petrified, fidgeting with her braid, or the buckles on her coat. He wants to say something else, wants to ask again what in the Void is wrong.

_Stop now, Rutherford. You are just making things worse!  
_

 An oppressive silence fills the cabin for the remainder of their journey so that by the time Redcliffe Castle appears ahead, Cullen is ready to take another dunking in the lake.

The Inquisitor sits forward in her seat as they pass Arl Teagan’s standards flapping in the breeze blowing off the lake, her unusual eyes widening as the carriage clatters through the large wooden gates and into the castle’s courtyard.

 He can’t help but smirk a little at her enthusiasm — it’s been a long time since he’s felt anything like the sentiments she inspires in him — her wonder and the candor of her reactions make his heart flip over in his chest and his breath stutter.  Maker, what had she done to him? Had she ensorcelled him? If he didn’t know her to be completely innocent, he’d have seriously considered the possibility that she’d put him under a thrall.

When at last the carriage comes to a halt before the wide doors of the castle’s hall, he raises a hand to stop her from leaping out.“Wait, Inquisitor, if you please,” his voice is a little gruff and strained. “Allow me to exit first so that I may hand you down properly.”

“All right,” the Inquisitor sits down meekly to wait. Cullen frowns at her, about to ask her again what is wrong before deciding against it. Grunting, he unfolds himself from his seat and steps out into the bright afternoon sunshine.

Nodding at Josephine and Leliana standing alongside the Arl and his retinue, he turns and offers his gloved hand to the Inquisitor. She takes it after a moment’s hesitation, and he helps her out of the carriage.

“My lady Inquisitor,“ the Arl inclines his head, “I am so grateful you decided to accept our invitation to discuss reparations for the damages your mages caused here recently. Your Ambassador and Seneschal have assured us that you come in good faith.”

The Inquisitor’s pale eyes flit between him and the other advisors before she lifts her chin and speaks clearly.  “My advisor’s assurances are correct, my lord. Now, might we be shown to our rooms? The Commander and I have been on the road for days and,” she glances up at him nervously, “we would welcome the chance to rest from our travels.”

Arl Teagan smiles. “Of course, follow me please.”

As they follow the Arl into the castle, Leliana and Josephine fall into step beside him.

“Commander, there has been a slight — issue with the accommodations,” Josephine whispers.

Cullen rolls his eyes. “And that is?”

Josephine looks worried. “The local nobility have turned out in force for this meeting, and as a result, there is only one room remaining.”

He rubs at his forehead, where his headache has suddenly become much worse, and sighs. “Do not trouble yourself, Lady Ambassador. I shall be fine sleeping in the barracks with the other soldiers.”

“You will not,” they all turn to stare at the Inquisitor who stands stock-still in the middle of the hall, chin raised obstinately.

Maker’s breath.


	3. Darker than Amber, Staring Right at Her

It had slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself, and now she feels her cheeks heat as all three of her advisors stare at her.

“Inquisitor, really - I do not mind,” Cullen sighs, and his cheeks flex as he shakes his head and looks away from her. He’s exasperated, annoyed again - he had seemed to be so in the carriage as well, even though he had tried continually to see if she was all right.

It’s an insult, unseemly that the Commander of the Inquisition be made to sleep in the barracks like a common soldier. He’s one of the key negotiators, he doesn’t need to be sleeping in a small bunk with his men as if he is unimportant.

Plus he had frowned the whole journey, rubbing his temples, and she’s beginning to wonder if he’s suffering some sort of pain.

“No, Commander - I insist that you stay within the keep,” Evelyn says, emphasizing with a swipe of her hand. Her voice is firm and she’s trying to keep herself steady, even if she feels her heart racing and her insides twisting. Leading is still something she is adjusting to.

“And where might I stay?” he shrugs, looking at her incredulously. “None of these simpering nobles will give up a room for a former Templar and a simple soldier, trust me.”

“You may have my room,” she insists, holding up a hand when he opens his mouth to protest. “It is fine, I can share with Dorian.”

“You - you will _not_ share with - with a Tevinter magister -” the Commander splutters.

“Mage,” she corrects coolly. She knows that he hasn’t been happy with Dorian’s presence, nor that of all of the mages from the Rebellion. And suddenly she’s reminded that her decision to accept the mages as their allies is precisely why they’re here.

Can’t he forget he was a Templar, just for once?

“Either way - it would be improper for you to share with him,” the Commander insists.

Evelyn shakes her head. “I’ve shared a tent with him before, Commander - it is no trouble,” she shrugs and folds her arms in front of herself. “Please - we need you nearby, Commander.”

The scowl on his face deepens at her words, and he opens his mouth to argue. Surprisingly, it is Josephine who steps closer to Evelyn and clears her throat.

“Inquisitor, I am afraid the Commander raises a valid point,” the Ambassador says. “Considering the nature of our talks, here, the damages done by a Tevinter magister - it would be wise if we did not set people’s tongues wagging.”

“Well then what do you suggest? We need the Commander near, and I am more than willing to give up my room,” Evelyn states. “Let me share with one of you -”

“I am afraid we are already sharing a room, and have no more space,” Josephine says, glancing at Leliana.

“Everyone is sharing, except for you, Inquisitor,” Leliana tells her. “The Arl is trying to show his respect for your position by giving you one of the nicest rooms in the keep -”

“If it is one of the nicest rooms, then there will be room for two,” Evelyn interrupts, resisting the urge to rub her forehead in her irritation. “Fine - the Commander will share with me -”

“ _What_ -”

“Inquisitor -”

“Please, my Lady -”

“End of discussion,” Evelyn holds up a hand again to halt their protestations. “If anyone raises a fuss, I will make it a point to the Arl that he should have treated the Inquisition more fairly and not invited so many useless, self-important Banns to these proceedings.”

Despite the way the Commander flushes, looking like he wants to continue protesting, he also looks like he’s fighting a smirk at her last words.

“Are there any other important matters that require my attention, or may I please see this room and take some time to freshen up after traveling all day?” she asks, her tone slightly harsher than she means for it to be.

She’s irritated though, thinking of the slight the Inquisition was shown by not having a room for each of her advisors. It’s not a good start to peace talks, or requests for reparations.

Josephine nods and gestures with a hand, indicating that Evelyn should follow. She avoids Cullen’s gaze, her heart suddenly racing as she realizes what she just suggested. As if things hadn’t been awkward enough on this journey, sharing a carriage alone with him - now she’ll be sharing sleeping quarters.

If it’s one of the nicest rooms in the keep, though, hopefully that means there is a sitting area, a sofa. The areas she had seen in Redcliffe in the future had not given her an adequate feel for the set-up of the rooms. Everything had been decaying, covered in red lyrium and corpses.

She shakes herself slightly as she remembers, and lifts her chin to hold her head high, willing herself to forget.

_Don’t think about it - you made certain that never happened. Don’t._

Footsteps are following her down the hall, and she recognizes the sauntering, confident gait of the Commander behind her. Her heart stutters in its pace as she suddenly realizes she intended to seek out her room alone to try to steady herself.

Just a moment’s privacy, away from his piercing golden gaze is all she wants. Now she realizes she won’t have the chance to calm herself before the peace talks begin.

She avoids looking back at him, afraid that he will see the discomfort on her face if she does. He already spent the entire journey asking her if she was all right - she doesn’t need to give him more reason to continue asking.

Instead she walks with her head held high, her hands straight at her sides, and she resists curling her hands into fists. Vaguely she wonders if she looks like someone walking to the gallows, but she can’t seem to make herself relax.

They finally arrive at the room, and Cullen steps forward quickly to open the door to let her pass first. She glances up at him and tries to nod her thanks, but her head merely jerks awkwardly and she bites her lip and looks away.

Still, those piercing eyes, making her feel like he’s looking through her. Does he think her insistence that he stay near silly?

Maker what a fool she is. He must think her a simple child, insisting a man who’s lived as a soldier for his whole life could not tolerate the barracks.

Evelyn precedes him into the room, taking in the decor and trying to push away the memories of it covered in rotting corpses and red lyrium growing out of the walls. Swallowing hard she looks around, and then a frown comes upon her face.

Though it is a large room, there isn’t much furniture - or at least, there isn’t anything that would make do for sleeping - except for one large, four poster bed.

“I - oh,” she murmurs, her shoulders slouching slightly as she takes in the accommodations. “I - I expected there to be -”

The Commander stops beside her, looking around the large chamber as well. When she chances a glance up at him, she notices his cheeks are flexing as if he’s grinding his teeth.

“N-no matter, we’ll - we’ll make do,” Evelyn suggests. “We - after all, we’ll be so busy I doubt we’ll have any time for sleep, really.”

A nervous giggle escapes her lips and she feels her cheeks flush.

If she thought their time traveling in a carriage together was setting her on edge with his proximity, she can only imagine how sharing a room with only one bed will make her feel.

Cullen marches forward and looks around the room, wandering into the small chamber that is attached to their quarters. When he re-enters the bedchamber, his scowl is even deeper than it was before.

“A - a bathing chamber,” he sighs. He shakes his head and looks around. “Inquisitor, I - I will be fine in the barracks.”

“No, Commander - I insist you stay here,” she says, clenching her fists. The idea of him sleeping in the barracks like a common soldier is still so offensive to her that she continues to insist he stay here instead of finding another solution.

He opens his mouth as if to protest, but her sudden strength of will leaves her and she gives a nervous smile.

“I - I would like to freshen up, if you’ll excuse me,” she tells him, and then hurries into the bathing chamber. She’s suddenly feeling claustrophobic even though the room is more than adequate size for two people.


	4. Across a Moonlit Room, She Calls My Name

Maker’s breath, this is ridiculous.

He glances around the room, his gaze drawn again and again to the large, four-poster bed situated against one wall. Their things have already been brought up; he can see his plain trunk beside her elegant one, and the stand for his armor sitting in one corner.

Sighing, he removes his armor piece by piece and sets it neatly on its stand.  He’ll have to make sure someone comes by to collect it for cleaning, as it is caked with road dust and sweat.  He scrunches his nose as he strips off his leather gambeson and the sweat-dampened shirt he wears underneath. Andraste’s tits, he’s in about as rough a condition as his armor. He glances at the door to the bathing room where the Inquisitor had disappeared behind.

What is she doing in there?  And _why_ _in the Void_ had she insisted on him sharing her accommodations when it seemed she was frightened to death of him? Surely, she could not wait to be shut of him upon their arrival?

Growling, Cullen runs a hand through his hair and rolls his shoulders to loosen the tension coiled in them. He’ll never understand noblewomen; they are beyond his simple ken and —

Just then, the door to the bathing room opens, and the Inquisitor steps out.

Her gasp echoes against the stone-walls as she stands frozen in the doorway, her beautiful eyes wide in her pale face. “C-Commander?”

At first, he can’t speak, for she is quietly radiant, like a full moon on a dark night. She has coiled her raven hair in a bun at her nape, revealing the long curve of her neck, and her dress, Maker, its soft white skirts flow around her body, suggesting her curves rather than garishly displaying them.

“Inquisitor, are you all right?” he takes two steps forward, and notes in dismay that she seems to recoil from him, her shoulders rounding. He steps back to give her room, his brows knitting together in a puzzled frown.

“I-I’m fine — you just startled me is all,” she stammers out, her eyes flitting to him and away again.

Ah. He rubs a hand over his bare chest and can’t hold back a smirk as the reason for her discomfiture dawns on him. “My lady, surely you realized that you might encounter me thus when you offered to share your room?”

She finally steps into the bedroom, fussing with her skirts. “Well, um, we’re expected at supper soon, so, um, you should —“

Cullen chuckles, relaxing a little for the first time in weeks. What is it about her that sets him at ease and inflames his senses at the same time?  “I should — I should wash up and change, yes?”

Her cheeks redden so prettily that he wants to grip them gently in his rough palms before leaning down and kissing those delightfully rosy lips.

“I — yes, you should. I will leave you to it, then, Commander. I’ll see you in the dining hall?”

He looks up from digging through his trunk and raises an eyebrow. “Should we not go down together?” when she blushes harder, he adds,”for your protection, of course.”

“I will be fine. I think the Arl’s residence is safe.” She brushes imaginary wrinkles from her skirts and straightens the laces of her cap sleeves, and although she smiles at him, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “See you soon, Commander.”

He watches her disappear out of the door and into the quiet hallway, the scent of petrichor teasing his nostrils as she passes by him.

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen checks the weight of his sword on his hip as he stands at the entrance to the dining hall. How he hates attending these things. He’d had to attend similar affairs as Knight-Captain and Knight-Commander back in Kirkwall, and time had not granted him any fond memories of such periods.

He swallows reflexively before pushing open the door and striding inside. The Steward nods at him and bellows at the top of his voice “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall.”

He winces at the sound of his former title.. He’ll never understand why these nobles require such pomp and circumstance. Casting a glance at the little steward, he marches forward, his eyes roaming the room until they land on the Inquisitor. She is seated beside the Arl, with Josephine and Leliana seated on his other side.

“Greetings, Commander, we’ve put you beside Bann Erroll over there,” the Arl smiles and points to a seat about halfway down the table.  The Inquisitor is frowning and looks as if she wants to say something, but Leliana places a hand on her arm and leans close to whisper something that Cullen can’t hear.

Maker’s breath, but he’d much rather be taking supper with his men than be subjected to this preposterousness. He sighs and takes his seat, careful not to strike the fat noble on his left with his scabbard.

He glances toward the front of the table and catches the Inquisitor’s eyes on him. For a moment she looks more like a lost child than the formidable woman he knows she is, and his heart twists. The urge to protect her, to shield her from all whom might harm her swells in his chest.

Then the Arl says something to her and the moment is broken.

“Commander,“ Bann Erroll begins around a mouthful of pheasant, “you are originally from very near here, are you not? Honnleath, was it?”

“Yes, my lord, I am from Honnleath,” Cullen affirms, averting his eyes from the disgusting half-masticated food the other man is smacking his lips around.

“I say,” the Bann continues. “then you know of the Ruins at Calenhad’s Foothold, do you not?”

“I — yes, my lord, I do.”

The portly man slaps him on his back and guffaws, bits of food spraying from his maw. “Good, good, then you know where ‘tis. Because,“ he clears his throat and announces to the rest of the table in a loud voice, “the Inquisition must restore Calenhad’s Foothold for Redcliffe’s nobility!”

Cullen frowns and stiffens in his seat as several ayes and yesses sound from the other nobles around the table.  Of all the ridiculous, asinine, frivolous —

“ — And we shall take that up in the meeting tomorrow, Erroll,” the Arl dismisses, then claps his hands to call his servants forth, “bring out the dessert, if you please. And more wine for our guests!”

He glares at Leliana and Josephine who are looking down at their plates and saying nothing. Do they mean to leave such a ridiculous request unchallenged? His gaze connects with the Inquisitor’s and again his heart pangs at the lost look in her lightning eyes.

Maker, how he wishes he was sitting nearer to her so that he could offer her some comfort. A touch, a glance, anything to let her know that he is here for her. It is a living thing inside him, this need to protect, to comfort this woman, and it confuses him.

Certainly, she is lovely. Certainly, he’s been attracted to her almost from the first time he saw her on that battlefield. When his eyes had locked with hers then, after the barrier she had thrown around him had faded, he’d been transfixed by their beauty and by the powerful magic he felt coursing through her blood. But this desire to keep her from anything that might cause her the least distress? This is new, and Andraste preserve him, he has no idea what to do with it.

He sighs and gulps down his wine, signaling for a refill. He’s going to need a lot more alcohol to get through this evening’s festivities.

 

* * *

 

Cullen is sitting at the edge of the bed pulling off his boots and socks when the Inquisitor enters and shuts the door behind her with a thud. He watches her speculatively as she leans against it and closes her eyes.

“Are you all right, Inquisitor?”

She startles at the sound of his voice, gasping as she clasps a hand to her chest. “F-fine. I’m fine, “ she demurs. When he raises a brow skeptically, she adds, “You just surprised me.”

He gets to his feet and comes to stand in front of her. “Are you certain? You seemed — uncomfortable at supper. Did anyone bother you? Just say the word, Inquisitor, and I shall —“

“No, no, everything was – is fine! I – it’s just overwhelming,” she seems to shrink away from him, and he realizes he must be looming over her. Again. He swears under his breath and steps away from her, his cheeks heating slightly.

He sighs. It’s going to be a long week. A very long week. Rubbing his forehead, he turns toward the bed then back toward her. He gestures toward the bed, “uh, you should — should get ready for bed, my lady. It’s been an eventful day. And do not worry, I — I shall sleep on the floor.”

“What?” she blinks at him in surprise and takes a step closer, “you’ll do no such thing. The bed is large enough to share and you — you seem in pain. You need to sleep, too, Commander.”

There is a stubborn glint in her unusual eyes that he’s only seen a couple of times since he’s known her, one of them being the reason they are here now — after her recruitment of those damned rebel mages. There will be no convincing her otherwise, and after this abominable day, he hasn’t the energy to argue fruitlessly.

“Fine,” he grumbles, lifting his hand in the air in a dismissive motion as he turns and stalks back to the bed.

“Good, then.”

She smiles at him, and the floor falls out from under his feet. At that moment, he can think of nothing, see nothing except for her and that brilliant smile, her dark hair coming loose from her bun and framing her face in wispy waves and her lightning eyes sparkling like moonlight over the water.

“I — I’ll just wait here while you perform your ablutions,” he manages to say as he tries to get his heartbeat under control. Maker, what is she doing to him?

“All right,” she crosses on whisper-soft feet to her chest and pulls something out. She glances at him, and her smile turns shy in a way that goes straight to his gut. “I –I’ll be out in a moment.”

He nods and watches her as she slips into the bathing room. Once she closes the door, he flings himself on the bed and lets out a quiet groan.

Cullen has already stripped down to his breeches and is lying in bed with an arm tossed over his aching eyes by the time the Inquisitor is finished in the bathing room. When the door creaks open, he lifts his arm off his eyes to see — Maker — a vision of beauty approaching the bed.

She is like a goddess of old, with her long dark hair spilling over her shoulders, bare beneath the thin straps of her night shift. The low-cut decolletage draws his eyes down to the white swells of her breasts, lovingly cupped by the thin material, so thin that, Maker help him, even in the dim candlelight he can see the suggestion of pink nipples.

Cheeks flushing, he fights back a groan and looks away, shifting himself in bed and bunching the covers to hide the evidence of his arousal.

“Commander?”

“Mmhm?” he lies still, not trusting himself to speak, his arm covering his eyes once more.

_Please, Inquisitor, just go to sleep!  
_

“Are you all right? Are you in pain?” her voice is dulcet soft, and then she _touches_ him. It’s just a bare ghosting of her hand on his forearm, but it scorches him. All his blood rushes to the heat of her fingers on his skin, and his cock throbs in response.

“I’m fine, Inquisitor,” struggling to keep his tone even, he swallows, “let’s get some sleep. We have another long day coming tomorrow.”

“You just seem — uncomfortable,” she persists, mirroring his own words to her from earlier.

A sigh leaves him as a small part of him wonders what she would say if he let her see what she is doing to him. She’d probably run away screaming, and he’d be out of a job. Women like her do not, as a rule, enjoy the attentions of someone like him.

“Maker’s breath, I said I am fine!”  he knows he sounds like a growly bear, but sod it, he’s at his limit just now. “Please, if you do not mind, I am tired and would like to get some rest.”

The bed shifts as she settles down on her side, and thank the Maker, she doesn’t say anything further beyond a quiet “good night.” He sighs again and tries to ignore the ache in his groin. It’s going to be a long night.

 

* * *

 

 

“No! Please! Not him! Not Cullen!”

Startled awake from his slight sleep by her cries, he sits up in bed, the sheets falling to his waist as he looks around the room.  The candle flames have guttered, their shadows playing upon the walls.

His eyes find her still sleeping in the bed beside him, but clearly in the throes of some nightmare. Her head thrashes back and forth, a light sheen of sweat pasting to her skin the delicate strands that curl away from her hairline. 

“Cullen!” she cries out plaintively, and the sound of it shreds his heart. He recognizes the note of fear and desperation in her voice all too well.

“Inquisitor,” he whispers, tentatively laying a hand on her shoulder. “I am right here. You are having a nightmare.”

Her eyes open and she sits up abruptly, her gaze flying around the room, her chest heaving with fright. When she finally becomes aware of him, her shoulders sag, and she lets out a sob as she flings herself into his arms.

Quickly recovering from his shock, he carefully enfolds her in his arms and lets her burrow her face into his chest as she weeps disconsolately.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs soothingly into her hair, inhaling the scent of ozone that surrounds her. “I am here, my lady, and I’ll not let anything or anyone hurt you.”

After a while, her sobs quiet and she pulls away, her eyes puffy from crying and her cheeks pink. “I-I’m sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” he tries a smile, “do you want to talk about it?”

She wipes a hand across her nose as she sniffles. “Um — I don’t want to burden you with my silliness.”

Taking her hand, he gives it a small squeeze. “Talking about it helps sometimes,” he tries again.

She glances down at their clasped hands and then up at him, her beautiful eyes shimmering with the aftermath of her tears. “All right, well, I —“ she brushes her long hair off her forehead, “you know I was here before — in that horrible future, right?”

“Yes,” he encourages, giving her hand another gentle squeeze.

“I - I guess being here and all has brought back things I would rather not remember,” she shivers, and he tugs the covers around her as she continues, “There was red lyrium growing out of everywhere, and walking corpses, decaying and rotten. I - when I was younger, I found a book in the Circle library on the Mortalitasi, and I - I _hate_ corpses, I never wanted to fight them, and then - that future - it was _full_ of them.”

“I cannot say that corpses are my favorite foe to fight either,“ he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “but you also called out my name. Why?”

She tugs her hand out of his and her eyes, usually so open and guileless, seem to shutter. “I-it’s probably because we’ve been spending so much time together. I-I’d rather not speak about it further.” His brows furrow in a curious frown. He wants to press her for more information, but it’s obvious that he’ll get no more out of her tonight.

“Of course,” he says quietly, “do you think you can go back to sleep?” 

She yawns and snuggles under the covers on her side of the bed. “I think so. Thank you for listening to me, Commander.”

“Any time, Inquisitor.”

Cullen sighs and lies down again, watching the dancing shadows the candlelight makes on the ceiling as he ponders why the Inquisitor called out his name, of all people, in her nightmare.


	5. A Solid Embrace, Kind Face, and Then the Hurt Starts Leaving the Room

She hardly slept.

At first she had fallen asleep easily, somehow lulled by his soothing presence beside her, by the sound of his deep breathing. But once asleep it was like the very atmosphere of the keep, and the future she had prevented had seeped into her dreams until she had been in the full throes of a nightmare, remembering.

_“The Commander - he died assaulting the keep after you - after we thought you -” Cassandra had told her, her eyes glowing red, cracks in her skin glowing the same color._

_Cullen, dead - Cullen dying to avenge her death, trying to carry on protecting Thedas. The look in Cassandra’s eyes - she could still picture it so clearly, hear the tug of her voice as she said it._

_“He died, thinking you were dead.”_

Evelyn pushes herself up, the sheets falling off her chest as she tries to ease out of the bed. Glancing to her side she sees him rolled away from her, his back rising and falling as he breathes deeply, still lost in his slumber.

Despite how little rest she found herself, she hopes that he found some, at least. He’s seemed so irritated, so disgruntled, especially last night after Bann Errol made his demands at the feast. All she can hope is that perhaps he will feel better today after sleeping in a real bed.

The bed creaks slightly as she hops out of it, and she looks over her shoulder once more to make certain she doesn’t wake him. He gives a soft grunt and shifts, and her nerves flee and she pushes herself off the bed, hurrying to her trunk and grabbing the first items on top before she runs into the bathing chamber.

She closes the door behind herself and leans against it, breathing heavily. Maker what was she thinking, offering to share her room with him? The nightmare had been unexpected, and she chides herself for the way she threw herself into his arms for comfort. She’s convinced now more than ever that he must think her a simple maid, unable to even handle sleeping without crying and being terrified.

What must he think of her as the Inquisitor? Surely he must laugh to himself and doubt her abilities to lead. The thought makes her cringe, and she sighs as she looks down at the clothes she grabbed from her trunk. Her uniform, the one Josephine insisted on, the one she detests wearing. But beyond the bathing chamber she can hear the bed creaking and realizes he must be waking up, and she thunks her head back against the wood, realizing she can’t run out and grab something else now.

“Are you all right, Inquisitor?” his deep, concerned voice calls out to her.

Her breath catches in her throat and she takes a moment before she calls back, “Yes, just - dropped something. I’ll be out in a moment.”

Resigning herself to wearing her uncomfortable uniform all day, she walks to the basin on a nearby stand and dips her hands in it, splashing her face with the cool water to help wake herself up. When she’s changed into the tight leather breeches and clinging silk top of her uniform, she worries her bottom lip and runs her fingers through her hair.

Her comb is in her trunk, but she’s currently too nervous to run out and grab it. She remembers walking out to find him changing the evening before, and the image of his broad, muscular chest is still burned into her memory. The way he had smirked at her, just as he had the day she stumbled over her words during their chess game, is also haunting her thoughts.

It can never be, she tells herself as she hurriedly works her long hair into a plait. It would be best for everyone if she just forgets her silly infatuation with him and moves on.

 

* * *

 

Rare are the times that she wishes she went home instead of isolating herself at the Circle in Ostwick.

But sitting and listening to the Banns arguing, making demands of the Inquisition, she realizes that returning home and being around nobles may have been helpful. If she had known what was coming in her future, when she was younger, perhaps she would have sought her father’s guidance instead of avoiding contact.

It had been easier, that was what she always told herself. Easier on all of them if they acted as if she was no longer a part of the family after she was taken to the Circle.

And yet now, listening to the Banns and Josephine’s responses to them, she feels lost. The demands they’re making seem ridiculous, having little to do with the reparations required for Redcliffe due to the Mage Rebellion and Tevinter’s interference.

When she gives her input, she feels like a child playing at being a leader. The Banns stare blankly at her every time, her heart racing since she’s certain they’re laughing at her behind their bland smiles, as if they can’t take her seriously. She wishes she could leave, or be swallowed up in the ground, or have a rift open from above to engulf her.

Fighting demons would be preferable to this.

Josephine does her best to play peacekeeper, staying firm when it is important to the Inquisition, but seeming to cave frequently to insistent Banns when it behooves the Inquisition to acquiesce. Leliana remains silent, her piercing sea blue eyes moving from noble to noble as they speak. When Evelyn catches her eye she gives the slightest smile of support, but never speaks up.

The Commander, on the other hand, is surprisingly vocal when it comes to lending his support to her positions. And whenever a Bann tries to talk over her or interrupt, he’s quick to stop them, insisting that she be allowed to finish first.

When Bann Errol acts dismissively toward her, sneering slightly as his tone drips with disdain, she stutters over her words and falls silent. Evelyn glances instinctively at Cullen, trying to find something to bolster her nerves, and her eyes search him out of their own accord, as if she can’t resist searching out his strength when she falters.

The look of anger on his face surprises her, and when he barks an interruption at the repulsive man, she isn’t the only one who jumps at how dangerous he sounds.

“I believe the Inquisitor was speaking,” Cullen cuts in, leaning slightly on the table as if he means to push himself out of his chair. “If you would allow her to finish, mayhaps you would get the answers you desire. But if you insist on speaking over her and dismissing her ideas, we will be here all night.”

Evelyn catches her bottom lip between her teeth, staring at Cullen and flushing as she feels gratitude wash over her. When he catches her eye, he almost smiles, and it takes her a moment to recover herself before she can continue her arguments with the Banns.

Maybe he doesn’t think she’s so useless after all.

 

* * *

 

“What did you expect, little bird?” Dorian chuckles and leans back on the settee. “These Banns requested your presence to ask for favors. Of course they’re going to act self-important and ask for too much. By requesting more than they require, they can get you to settle for what they actually need.”

She sighs, realizing he’s right. Burying her face in her hands she rubs her fingers along her forehead and into her hair, trying her best to massage away the tension overwhelming her. Meetings and dignitaries all day - it was more draining on her than she ever could have expected.

“This is ridiculous,” she groans. “You would think if they wanted favors they would be a bit more - courteous? I’ve never seen the Commander so furious over something like that, I thought he was going to draw his sword more than once.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Dorian drawls, and she raises her gaze to see him staring at the goblet of wine in his hand, an amused and knowing look on his face.

“What do you mean?” she asks, frowning as she watches him smirk.

“Let’s just say the Commander - obviously feels more than a bit protective of his - _Inquisitor_ ,” he meets her gaze and winks, but she continues to frown at him.

“I - do you think he thought I was in danger?” she muses, wrapping her arms around her knees. She’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the chair facing the settee Dorian is lounging on, unable to feel comfortable in her own skin much less a seat. The tight articles of her uniform don’t help her discomfort, and she shifts slightly, trying to adjust.

Luckily plans had changed after the meetings had run late, and there isn’t to be a large formal feast this evening. Evelyn isn’t certain how much more she can take, her nerves already fraught beyond belief just from dealing with the Banns all day.

“I think you’re both in danger,” Dorian sighs, a playful quality in his voice as a smile tugs up the corners of his mouth.

“What do you mean? Did you hear something?” she leans forward, her heart racing.

Assassins? A plot? What had Dorian heard, who could be targeting she and the Commander?

“Oh little bird, you really did lead a sheltered life in your little cage, didn’t you?” he peers at her thoughtfully over the rim of his goblet as he takes a sip.

She can’t decipher the look in his eyes and her frown deepens.

“I - I did, yes,” she admits, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

What has she missed? What is Dorian saying, what has he caught on to that isn’t obvious to her?

“It seems they taught you magic but not much else. Poor little, caged bird,” he sighs almost wistfully, almost overdramatically as he peers once more into his goblet.

She tightens her arms around her knees and stares at the rug, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. Dorian may only be teasing, but he’s speaking the truth.

She knows very little about life beyond the Circle, and far less about why the Commander was so defensive and protective of her after acting so irritated to be in her presence the last few days.


	6. Said You'd Give Me Light. But You Never Told Me About the Fire

Cullen grumbles to himself as he stalks to his shared quarters after another excruciating meal during which the Inquisitor kept looking at him with her startling eyes. She seemed so lost in there, and those bloody nobles were so rude and dismissive.  Maker’s breath, he wanted to grab those useless gits about their throats and shake them until they learned manners.

As he walks, he unbuttons his jacket, instantly breathing easier without that damned constricting collar biting at his throat. Josephine insisted on it, and when that woman wanted something, especially when it had to do with diplomacy and nobles, she will not be denied.

When he finally reaches the privacy of his rooms, he shrugs out of his jacket, and even though he wants to toss it on the floor, he restrains himself and neatly puts it away.  His mother and later, the Templar Order trained him too well.

“Inquisitor?” he calls as he looks around. When he gets no reply, he checks the bathing room.

He’s alone. Thank the Maker for small favors.

Working the buttons of his shirt, he crosses to the bed — the single bed — and sits down with a gusty sigh. Maker, but he’s exhausted. Between the few hours of sleep he’d managed to get the night before and the stress of these talks, he’s wound up as tight as a bowstring.

A piece of white fabric catches his eye. It’s the Inquisitor’s nightshift hanging from one of the bed’s four posters.  He gets up and rounds the bed so that he can reach out and finger the fabric. It feels soft, like her skin, and it smells like her – wet grass, ozone, and petrichor.

He remembers the way the fabric of the bodice clung to her torso, translucent enough to reveal the shape and color of her nipples. He licks his lips and swallows as his mouth waters at the idea of tasting them on this tongue, feeling their texture and the hitches of her breathing as he worships her with his mouth.

He shuts his eyes, trying and failing to force those images from his mind. Maker, it wouldn’t do for him to be thinking such thoughts when he had to share a bed with her again this very night!

Still, he tries. 

He drops down and begins to lift the weight of his torso off the floor with his arms, then lowers himself back down. He repeats this move over and over again while doing the equation for calibrating a trebuchet on a windy day in his head.

Finally, he collapses on his back, breathing hard, his arms turned to jelly, and sweat covering every inch of him. And still, he feels like his _pants_ are crushing him! He groans and gets to his feet, stripping off his sodden shirt. He tosses it into the laundry-chest in the corner.

Fuck. He doesn’t usually swear, but right now, the situation calls for it. Glancing down at the very-prominent evidence of his desire, he curses aloud this time.

“Fuck!”

How long has it been since he’s had a woman? Too long, clearly, for him to be so bloody well undone by a woman he has no business even thinking about much less doing the things he wants to do to her.

He drags a hand across his face and considers his options:  he can try to find a willing woman to assuage his need, but that would mean more _talking_ , and he is just about talked-out.  Or he can do what he usually does to take care of such things.

Right.

He crosses to his trunk and opens the lid. Fishing through his things, he pulls out the vial of oil he’d tucked away in there before leaving Skyhold. Tapping it in his palm, he pauses.

It occurs to him that he has no idea when the Inquisitor will return.

Well.

He’d best be about this quickly, then, hadn’t he?

Tossing the vial on the bed, he strips out of his pants and nearly groans at the relief of his aching cock popping free of the constricting fabric.

Stretching out on the bed, he picks up the vial of oil and pours some into his palm. Sighing, he begins to stroke himself, coating his shaft and balls with the slick oil. As he drags his rough palm up his shaft, he imagines her. She’s before him, hair loose and flowing around her shoulders. She wears that sheer night shift and slowly, ever so slowly she shrugs it off, one shoulder at a time.

“Commander,” she whispers as she lets the fabric drop to her bare feet in a pool of white.  She flicks back her long raven hair over her shoulders and stands before him proudly naked. Her coral tipped breasts are high and full, not too large but not small, either.

Maker, they would fill his palms nicely. The Inquisitor in his head climbs onto the bed and kneels before him, cupping those perfect mounds as she gives him a wicked smile, her pink tongue coming out to wet her lips. Flicking a thumb over the head of his cock, he lets out a low moan of pleasure.

Void take him, he wants to kiss those lips, he wants to taste her, he wants to put his hands all over her beautiful body. He strokes himself faster, groaning at the rough touch of his palm against sensitive skin. Her touch, Maker, her touch would feel like velvet, soft and delicate, just like her.  The dream Inquisitor crawls forward and —

“Commander?” the shocked voice of the very real Inquisitor freezes him mid-stroke. He opens his eyes to find her standing in the doorway, her face a stunned mask. But her storm-colored eyes roam over his naked body, scorching him where he lies.

“I-Inquisitor — I —I —“ he manages to get out, scrambling to find something to cover himself with. He settles for a pillow which he places over his still-throbbing cock. He flushes, his face and chest turning beet-red.

“I – I Just remembered I have somewhere to be” she stammers out, twin spots of color burning in her pale cheeks. Then she is gone in the blink of an eye, vanishing through the door in a cloud of dark hair, the scent of rain lingering in her wake.

Cullen drops his head into his hands and groans.

Maker’s breath, this cannot be happening. The Inquisitor — the Herald of Andraste — did not just walk in on him having a tug.

This is ridiculous. Why did he even attempt that? It’s almost as if he wanted —

No. Surely not.

He gets up and grabbing his sleep trousers from his trunk, heads into the bathing room to clean himself up. He glares down at his still-stiff cock and rolls his eyes.

Pathetic.

In the bathing room, he looks at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall above the wash basin. He’s haggard, dark circles ringing his eyes, and his hair is mussed, the curls starting to escape his carefully pomaded style.  And there’s a hungry look in his eyes.

Maker, what he must have looked like to the Inquisitor. The thought makes him blush harder, and he groans, leaning his hot forehead against the cool stone wall beside the mirror. And yet, she _had_ looked at him. He’d seen her eyes travel over his naked body, and there was a spark of interest there. He’d lay odds on it.

Andraste preserve him, what does she want from him?  He runs a hand through his hair, further disheveling it. She acts interested, but then, she behaves like he’s an ogre about to devour her if he makes the slightest move!  He wishes he had more experience with young noblewomen. Other than for a quick tumble, that is.

He turns to the large tub — Maker, what an extravagance — but one he intends on taking full advantage of. Sex is easy. He’s never had a problem getting sex whenever he wants it. He taps a red rune on the wall, and the tub starts filling with heated water.  Forging a connection — now that is another matter altogether.  And he realizes that it’s not just sex he wants from her, though certainly, a little of that would go a long way to making him feel better.

Once the tub fills with water, he steps in and sinks into it, groaning as the hot water goes to work on his tense muscles.  What would she do if he kissed her? Picking up a bar of soap, he starts to wash. Would she run again? Or would she open to him? That thought makes him moan as his hand brushes across his stiff member.

Ignoring it, he quickly finishes his bath, and by the time he dries himself off and gets into his sleep trousers, the Inquisitor is back in their room. When he comes out of the bathing room, she is sitting on the bed.  She startles as he comes in, and he forces himself not to roll his eyes.

Maker, it isn’t like he’s going to bite her — well, not unless she asks him to.

_Stop it, Rutherford! The girl is frightened. Reassure her!  
_

He clears his throat. “Inquisitor,” he begins, keeping an appropriate distance from her. “I —I must apologize. I do not usually do —” he flushes  “ — that is, I do not often do that kind of thing where I might be caught.”

She leaps to her feet and holds her hands out in front of her. “No, no, please Commander, you — you need not apologize.” She turns and walks toward the other end of the room before turning and facing him again. “You — you have needs. I want — want you to be comfortable.”

He raises an eyebrow, closing the distance between them. “I have needs? You — you want me to be — comfortable?” he shakes his head, “what do you even know about that?”

She steps backward and hits the wall behind her. “Well — just that you — that you have —“ she waves her hand at his lower body “You have — urges — yes — urges that you—“ she seems to be considering her words as she says them “—must sate or —“

“Or what?” he comes closer still, now standing just in front of her, aware of just how small she is compared to him. She looks up at him, her unusual eyes large in her face. The smell of rain and moist earth teases his senses as he rests one arm above her head and brushes away the wisps of her hair that have come loose from her braid.

Her lips tremble, and her eyes drop from his eyes to his mouth. “Or — or you’ll be in pain,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Of all the — Cullen chuckles and smirks as he lowers his head toward hers. “No, Inquisitor,” he says only a breath away from her mouth, “I do not think that you understand at all. But I can show you.”

He captures her mouth with his, one hand holding her chin to keep her where he wants her. At first, she hesitates, but as he continues to apply pressure, her mouth relaxes against his and her lips part. Turning his head, he slips his tongue into her mouth as her arms come around his neck and her fingers thread in his hair.

The scent of her surrounds him like the spring rain, and her taste explodes on his tongue like the finest wine. He drinks her in, his mouth sucking on hers, first her upper lip, then her lower one. He is like a man long denied food and water at a feast. He can’t stop kissing her.

She moves toward him, coming up from the wall to press her firm, young breasts against his bare chest. He moans against her mouth, one of his hands coming to cup her head while the other squeezes her ass. And he about loses it when her tongue tentatively seeks out his, twining awkwardly and yet with purpose around it.

Breathing in harsh, broken gasps, he finally breaks the kiss. Unable to bear being parted from her, he tucks his head into the join of her neck and shoulder as he fights to catch his breath.

“Commander?” her voice is breathy, soft and low.

“Mhm?”

“Thank you.”

He leans his head back to look down at her, one brow raised. “For what?”

“My first kiss. It was really nice.”

Her words hit him like cannon shot at close range. He releases her immediately and backs away. “You — you mean to tell me that you have never before kissed a man?”

She shakes her head, a confused look flitting across her face. “No. There — there were boys — other mages — who wanted to, of course. Kiss me, that is. But I — I never wanted to. “ A shy smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “Before you.”

Well, shit.


	7. And There's Nowhere Else to Be

“Did I say something wrong?”

He’s staring at her, an imperceptible look on his face.

She shouldn’t have said that, she shouldn’t have made that confession. He certainly has to think her a simple maiden now, knowing that she hadn’t even ever kissed anyone.

But it had been so wonderful, so absolutely perfect, that she couldn’t resist saying so. The words had poured from her lips before she could stop them.

“I - I’m sorry, I just -” she begins, but he steps back and shakes his head, a curious look in his eyes as he stares down at the floor. He drags his hand down his chin, looking deep in thought.

“Maker, no, I - thank you, for - for telling me,” he says, and he takes a deep breath as his golden eyes flit around the room. He still won’t look at her, and her heart begins to race, her bottom lip quivering.

She pulls it between her teeth, worried that she said something wrong, that now he doesn’t want her.

And he had seemed like he wanted her. After catching him in such an intimate moment, she had thought things would be tense, stilted, that maybe he would be angry. Instead he had pursued her, had kissed her - eagerly, as if he had longed for it, as if he were dying of thirst and could only quench it with her lips.

She had pictured her first kiss many times while she lay awake alone at night in the Circle, but still even her imaginings had never quite come close to the real thing. Her knees are weak, her legs and hands trembling.

She wants him to do it again, but she doesn’t know how to go about making it happen. Especially not now, when he is avoiding her gaze like this. Would he think her overly bold or daring if she were to try?

Tentatively she takes a step forward, trying to steel herself. He had kissed her, he had been so keen, holding her against the wall with purpose and intention behind his actions. Surely if she kisses him again -  

“Inquisitor - Evelyn, I - I just remembered, I need to,” but he trails off awkwardly as he looks around once more. “I’ll return shortly.”

And with that he crosses the room quickly, closing the door firmly behind him when he leaves.

For several moments she simply stares at the door, confusion coursing through her. That is it, then.

She had ruined everything.

Wiping angrily at the tear that escapes down her cheek, she chides herself for her foolishness. She shouldn’t have said that, any of that, and the images keep running through her mind, thinking over everything that had happened.

Dorian had encouraged her to come back to the room, insisting that she couldn’t stay in his room for the night instead. But now she’s wishing she hadn’t listened to him. The Commander, handsome, kind, warm Cullen, had kissed her and she’d immediately blabbed out her secret.

He’s so much older, he’s been through so much more than her, of course he wouldn’t want someone like her, naïve and inexperienced. Maker she’d walked in on him trying to relieve himself, she should have realized that he had just been trying to find another outlet.

The nearest warm body. He must have thought - after all, she knew that other mages had always snuck into one another’s beds, she’d heard the sounds each night. But she had never found anyone who interested her, though he didn’t know that.

And now the only man who has ever interested her is probably off laughing to himself about the young, virginal Herald of Andraste.

She chafes as she thinks it, crossing to where her nightshift is hanging and snatching it off the wooden post. Anger at herself, confusion at his actions, mortification at everything she had said continues to flit through her mind.

She won’t allow him to see her upset though, she determines to be in bed when he comes back. Hurrying to change she throws her uniform haphazardly into her trunk and then slides between the sheets.

In the morning, she’ll apologize, she’ll tell him it was a mistake. They’ll go back to being the Inquisitor and the Commander, and pretend like it never happened.

When he comes back she tries to keep her breathing deep and even, hoping that he’ll assume she’s asleep. She listens as he moves around the room, and tries not to startle when the bed dips under his weight as he takes his place beside her. The racing of her heart increases when she feels his hand near her, but he simply pulls the sheets and blankets over her shoulder before he rolls away from her.

The Inquisitor and the Commander. That’s all they can ever be.

 

* * *

 

Evelyn tugs at her sleeve, taking a deep breath as she does. She flicks her long braid back over her shoulder before smoothing the hair at her temples.

_It was a mistake, Commander. It won’t happen again, my apologies._

She’s been rehearsing the words in her head the entire time she got ready for the day. They haven’t spoken yet, she’d hurried into the bathing chamber before he could say anything. One last steadying breath, one last time rehearsing the words in her head, and she finally reaches for the door.

Cullen is tightening the laces on a leather vest, and she frowns when she realizes he’s not in his formal uniform. As soon as she enters the room he looks up at her, and smiles.

Everything she had rehearsed slips from her mind, and her mouth hangs open, trying to form the words she needs to say to him.

“Ah, Evelyn,” he greets her. “I was thinking, the talks have been - stagnant, to say the least. You seem like you could use a break, and I was hoping - that is, if you would like to accompany me, I was hoping we might sneak away for the day.”

“You - you want us to - don’t we need to attend the talks?” she frowns, trying to determine what he means, what he’s suggesting. The way he’s looking at her is making her mind blank, and he had called her Evelyn. The sound of her name passing his lips has her heart racing.

“Josephine and Leliana can handle them for the day,” he continues to smile as he walks toward her. “You have been working hard lately, you deserve some time away from the Banns and their bickering. Why don’t you change into something more comfortable and meet me at the stables?”

“At the - are you sure this is all right?” she peers up at him, having to crane her neck now that he’s closed the distance between them.

“Of course it is,” he tells her, and he reaches up with a hand to place a knuckle under her chin, brushing her lightly with his thumb. “I’ll see you shortly.”

“I - all right,” she agrees, her brows furrowing as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth to hide how it’s quivering. The place where he brushed her chin almost tingles from the contact, and she simply stares after him as he crosses the room and leaves.

Maker - that hadn’t gone at all how she had thought it would, and her mind races as she turns back to her trunk. The idea of spending her day out of her uniform is definitely appealing, and she rummages through her belongings to find her linen blouse and leather breeches. He had said to meet him at the stables, and she assumes he intends for them to take horses.

Once she’s changed she hurries through the keep, and she marvels at her luck that she doesn’t run into anyone who may stop her. A day with Cullen - whatever he intends, she’s more than happy for the chance to slip away and spend time with him.

When she reaches the stables she finds him waiting, holding the reins of two horses with a smile on his face. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she returns his smile, a bit timidly at first, still trying to figure out what he’s up to.

He passes the reins of one of the horses to her before he helps her into the saddle, his large hands almost able to fully encompass her as he does.

“Where are we going?” she asks as he pulls himself onto his horse, but he simply smirks at her and urges his horse forward.

“Come along, Evelyn,” he calls over his shoulder, and after one more moment’s hesitation she nudges her horse as well.

They ride for most of the morning, pleasantly conversing about the countryside as they pass. She’s curious, still wanting to ask him more about where they’re going, but she’s determined not to misspeak and ruin things as she did the previous night. Somehow talking with him is so easy, and she’s reminded of their early chats at Haven. Laughter comes easily to them both, and he seems intent on making her smile, telling jokes and stories to entertain her.

It’s the most pleasant time she’s had in ages, longer than she can remember, and she begins to wonder if it’s the best time she’s had in her life. She hadn’t had many friends at the Circle, and the one she had been closest to had ended up not being a friend at all.

As she rides beside Cullen, she thinks back on Grayson’s attempts at the Circle to woo her, at his misguided infatuation. She had only ever felt friendship for him, though he had persistently tried to convince her to feel more for him.

Now, glancing at the Commander beside her, she realizes she never could have felt anything similar to this for anyone else. It’s easy, comfortable, and even her worries about the previous night begin to disappear, replaced instead with hope and happiness.

Around midday they reach a lake, and Cullen guides his horse toward it, his smirk widening into a bright grin. “It looks just as I remember it,” he tells her, his tone almost wistful. “I thought maybe you could use some peace, a chance to get away from everything and relax. I packed a picnic, if you would like.”

“C-Cullen, I - this is wonderful,” she looks around at the lake, noticing it’s secluded, quiet. It’s exactly the sort of relaxing, tranquil atmosphere she’s been missing. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he nods and smiles at her once more before he finally swings himself off his horse. He ties its reins to a tree near the water before he returns to her side to lift her from her saddle. Setting her gently on the ground, he keeps his hands on her waist as he leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I will tie up your horse if you do not mind grabbing the blanket from my saddle?”

The kiss, so tender and intimate, renders her speechless, and so she merely nods her agreement. He’s being so sweet, so informal, and she isn’t quite certain what to make of it.

Perhaps she hadn’t ruined everything the night before, if he is kissing her like this now.

She does as he asked, taking the blanket off his saddle and setting it up on the sand near the water’s edge. After she’s taken her place on it he joins her, setting down a bottle of wine and a satchel, which he opens and begins to rummage through.

“I asked the cook to put something together for us,” he tells her as he begins setting out items. Bread, cheeses, smoked meats, and fruit soon sit at the top of the blanket between them, and he smiles as he pulls the cork from the wine. “Please, eat. You scarcely weigh more than a mouse.”

She giggles and reaches for the loaf of bread, tearing off a chunk to eat with a piece of cheese. “Worried about me, Commander?” she teases before she nibbles at the bread.

He frowns slightly. “You may call me Cullen. We are alone, after all,” he tells her.

“I - you’re right,” she nods. “I suppose I’m just…”

“You are not uncomfortable, are you?” he gently prompts her when she doesn’t finish.

“No, no, actually I’m - I’m quite relaxed,” she tells him, and she gives him a bright smile.

He stares at her for a moment before he returns her smile and starts to pour wine into the goblets that he packed. “I am glad to hear it.”

Giggles escape her once more, and she notices an eager smile on his face as he passes her one of the goblets.

“It has been a long time since I heard you laugh, Evelyn,” he tells her softly. “I had missed the sound.”

“It’s - it’s been a while since I had a reason to,” she sighs.

He takes a sip of wine as he looks out over the lake. “I used to come here as a child. I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my mind.”

“You were happy here?” she asks, also looking over the lake, trying to picture a young Cullen, searching out peace and quiet here.

“I was,” he answers softly. “I still am.”

The tone of his voice makes her glance at him, and she’s surprised to see that he’s smiling intently at her. She feels her cheeks warm, her heart racing slightly. Could he be saying he was happy that he was there with her?

“How about you? I realize - we have never spoken of your family,” he frowns slightly as he takes a bite of the morsels he’s holding.

“I - I haven’t seen or spoken to them in years,” she murmurs, staring down into her wine. “I went to the Circle when I was seven, and I - I never went home. I could have, I just - decided not to. It was better that way.”

“We could invite them to Skyhold, surely they would want to see you,” Cullen suggests.

“No, I - I doubt -” she trails off and thinks for a moment. “It’s only my father left, now. My brother died three years ago, and my - well, my mother did too, a few months later.”

“I - Maker, I am so sorry,” he tells her, and she gives him a sad smile. He sets aside his goblet and leans closer to her, brushing loose hair from her braid behind her ear. “I know that sort of pain never goes away. My parents died in the Blight, and I - I miss them dearly. I can only imagine how it must have felt to lose your brother, as well.”

She leans her cheek against his hand, taking comfort in its warmth and roughness on her skin. “Thank you,” she murmurs, looking up at him. He’s so close, and the way he’s looking at her is making her heart race.

If she kissed him, would he accept it?

Before she can work up the nerve to do so, he takes the goblet from her hand and sets it beside his. A soft murmur of her name, and then he cradles the back of her head as he leans forward.

It’s a sweeter, more tender kiss than the night before, less urgent in the way his lips are moving against hers. But still her heart is racing, her breath coming to her in gasps as she leans into him. He tastes like the wine, and she eagerly searches out his tongue with hers.

The feeling is entirely new to her, but it’s like she can’t get enough of it. Instinctively her hand reaches up to his cheek as if she can anchor herself against the sensations coursing through her. When she touches her tongue to his he moans, and his grip on her waist tightens in response.

She almost feels dizzy, and she finds herself relaxing into his arms and clinging to him. He gently lays her back on the blanket without breaking the kiss, twisting his mouth against hers as he props himself above her. The intensity with which he is kissing her is increasing, the careful reserve he had been showing when he first began slowly slipping.

When his hand slides beneath her blouse she moans, her heart racing even faster as he slowly caresses the skin of her abdomen. She threads her fingers into his hair, holding him to her as she tries to keep up with his passion. Another moan escapes her when his fingers work their way under breastband, and the feeling of his rough palm against her sensitive flesh elicits a deeper one.

He squeezes gently, cupping her breast in his hand before he runs his thumb over her nipple. A startled gasp escapes her in response to the feeling. It’s unlike anything she’s felt, no one has ever touched her like this, and she wants - needs - more.

But at her soft cry he pulls away, his brows knitted together in a deep frown. She opens her mouth, intending to say something, to ask him what’s wrong, but he removes his hand and pushes himself until he’s sitting.

“We - we should finish our picnic, so that we can return to the Keep,” he mutters, and she notices a breathlessness to his voice, though his tone is heavy with irritation.

“I - Cullen, I -” but she has no words to explain how she is feeling. Had she done something wrong? Again?

Pushing herself up she adjusts her shirt and her breastband, noticing the way he’s staring across the lake, his arm propped on his bent knee. After a moment he runs his hand down the lower half of his face and lets out a soft sigh.

She reaches for her goblet of wine, draining half of it in one gulp. She isn’t certain what she did wrong, this time, and the contentment she had been feeling is gone as she wonders why he stopped.

 

* * *

  
The ride back is quieter, though they still talk easily about the countryside and the meetings when they do speak. He still smiles at her, though his brows are quirked slightly as if he’s scowling. She wants to ask him if he’s all right, but she doesn’t know how. All she can think is that she must have done something to irritate him.

Cullen helps her off her horse once they reach the stables, but he doesn’t let his touch linger and he doesn’t bestow a kiss to her forehead as he had before. She tries not to show her disappointment or confusion, instead simply sighing and turning to head into the keep.

“Where have you two been? We were dealing with the Banns all day, they were asking - we told them urgent matters came up, but -”

The scolding voice of the Ambassador greets her as soon as she pushes into the foyer of Redcliffe Castle, and she simply stares for a moment, uncertain how to respond. Josephine is standing with her hands on her hips, looking torn between anger and confusion at the sight of Evelyn.

“I - sorry, Josie, we -” she stutters out, but she feels someone stop beside her and glances up.

Cullen gives the Ambassador a smirk and a shrug. “Apologies, Ambassador, we had other plans.”

“Other plans?” Josephine repeats, her eyebrows raising high on her forehead. “The point of these talks, Commander, is for the Inquisition to -”

“Oh come now, Josie, the talks went smoothly without them,” Leliana chimes in, stepping out of a nearby hallway. “Although we expect that you won’t sneak off tomorrow, hm?”

“Of course,” Evelyn agrees, nodding. “I - I am sorry.”

She stands awkwardly for a moment before she turns and hurries to her - their - room. Her mind is still racing, but she hopes that maybe if she can just sleep, everything will be all right. Tomorrow they’ll be back in the meetings, and she’ll be too distracted to wonder over everything that happened at the lake.

After she changes in the bathing chamber, she walks out to find him sitting on the edge of the bed in only his sleep trousers, facing away from her. She presses her lips together, resisting the questions she wants to ask, the things she wants to say, the desires she doesn’t know how to express.

Instead she slips between the sheets and lays on her back, staring up at the canopy above her as she tries to ignore the oppressive silence between them.


	8. And When You Find Me There, You'll Search No More

The sound of Evelyn coming out of the bathing room brings him around to face her. Andraste preserve him, the sight of her dressed in her nightshift sets his heart thundering in his chest and drains all the blood from his head.

Tonight, she’s left her dark hair loose to tumble free around her shoulders, and her pale cheeks are flushed with color. Her sparkling eyes fall on him, and a soft smile turns up the corners of her lips.

He swallows as he remembers how her lips felt under his, how soft and pliant they were, yielding to him. How her breast felt under his hand, firm under skin softer than velvet. It was everything he dreamed it would be and more.

But it is not enough. He wants — he _needs_ more. Maker, he wants to see her lying naked beneath him, her hair spilling all over the sheets, her lips red and swollen from his kisses and her starlight eyes shining with desire. Just like they were today at the lake.

He’s hard. He’s been hard for most of the day, and it was all he could do to pull away from her earlier. Void take him, he wanted to have her there on that blanket.

And she hadn’t pulled away today. She hadn’t shied away or acted skittish. In fact, she seemed eager for his touch. Is there hope, then, that his attentions aren’t unwanted after all?

She says nothing as she comes around to her side of the bed and climbs under the covers. He gets in beside her, determined to keep it light and give her time to adjust to the idea of intimacy with him,  despite the urgency of his cock pressing against the fabric of his sleep trousers.

 “Good night, Evelyn,” he can't keep the pitch of his voice from dropping, so he quickly smiles to put her at ease.

“Cullen?” she reaches out and touches his arm, and it’s as if he’s been branded. The light buzzing he felt when he kissed her surges through his arm and sends tingles down his spine and straight to his groin.

He fights back a groan and keeps the smile plastered on his face as he turns to her.

“Yes, love,” the endearment slips out before he can pull it back.

Her gaze flicks down at the sheets between them, then back up to his eyes. “Thank you for today. I had a good time,” she says softly.

“Did you now?” the heat of her touch and the gentle look in her eyes unlock something inside him. He can’t —  it’s too much. He rolls and shifts so that he is hovering above her, his weight supported on his arms propped on either side of her. Her breathing hitches and her eyes darken as he shifts his weight onto one arm and traces her lips with his finger. “And did you enjoy kissing me, sweet Evelyn?”

She bites her bottom lip and her eyes flick down to his lips and back up to his golden gaze. “I — yes, Cullen. I — I enjoyed — I enjoyed it very much and should — should like you to do it again.”

The way she lies beneath him, looking like every single fantasy he’s had since she appeared before him on that battlefield outside the destroyed Temple of Sacred Ashes, and the searing look she gives him removes the last vestiges of his control. He crushes her lips under his, one hand coming up to palm her breast, his thumb working the nipple through the material of her nightshift.

She responds like fire, writhing under his touch, moaning softly into his mouth as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue swirling against hers. As he settles on top of her and continues to work her mouth with his, one of her hands cups his rough cheek while the other buries itself in the hair at the back of his head.

He arches into her touch with a soft moan, and his mouth leaves hers to trail wet kisses along the side of her face, nuzzling her behind the ear and drawing a breathy giggle from her before moving down the side of her neck.

“Oh, Cullen,” his name is a sigh on her lips. It lights him up from the inside out, makes his blood sizzle through his veins as it flows down and down.

He kisses his way down her body, his hands snaking their way underneath her nightshift.

“Get this damned thing off,” he growls, shoving it upward.  She giggles again but raises her arms obediently to allow him to lift it over her head. As he flings it to the ground, he mutters “ah, much better, “ and resumes his journey down her body again, pausing at her breasts to cup each one in his hands. “Maker, these are perfection.”

As his mouth and hands make their way down to her lower body, still covered by her smalls, he pauses to look up at her. “Are you sure you want this, Evelyn? Here,” he swallows past the lump in his throat, “with me?”

Her soft hand returns to his cheek and strokes its whiskered surface. “Yes, Cullen,” she says clearly and distinctly. “I want you.”

The scarred corner of his mouth quirks upward in a wicked smirk, his golden eyes gleaming with intent. “Well, then, love, allow me to show you how good I can make you feel.”

Slowly, carefully, he pulls down her smalls, pressing kisses to the skin he exposes bit by bit. The way she shivers under him with every scorching kiss he lays on her skin stokes his lust, his cock copiously leaking fluid, and so hard now that it’s almost painful.

“Cullen, please,” she begs, her hips writhing under his ministrations.

“Oh, I am not nearly done with you, miss,” he warns her. Tugging down her smalls a little more, he makes a show of looking around the room. “ Hmm, I wonder how thick these walls are. I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Removing her smalls the rest of the way and tossing them aside, he inhales sharply at the sight of her utterly and completely naked before him.  Divine. She is simply divine,

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs as she parts her legs for him at his gentle nudge, “so beautiful. And so responsive, Maker, I —“  he parts her with his fingers and buries his face in her quim. Her gasps and cries are music to his ears as her scent surrounds him and her taste explodes in his mouth.

“Cullen w-what are you —”  a high keen interrupts her words as he lays her open with the flat of his tongue, licking her folds from top to bottom. He pauses at the top to nibble at her clit, and her reaction is instantaneous — she cries out loudly and arches into him, grasping his head with her hands.

He sucks on her clit then returns to licking and nibbling her as he inserts first one finger, then the other. She shudders and quakes under him and moisture coats his face, drenching his stubbled chin and his mouth.  He strokes her inner walls with a come hither motion of his fingers, returning to her clit, taking it between his teeth, and worrying it a little.

Breathy moans pour from her, and she undulates her body against his mouth seeking more friction. She is close, thank the Maker, so bloody close.  “Let it happen, love,” he croons against her, nuzzling and sucking at her nub, relishing the scent of fresh rain, ever so much more potent here at the core of her.

At that moment, she seizes and bucks against him, crying out his name in a long litany as her pleasure crests. Still, he wants to give her more and more, so he continues to lap at her, sucking and stroking her to completion once, twice, three more times before she tries to pull away.

“C-Cullen, please,” she whimpers. “I —I’m so sensitive.”

He lifts his head up to smirk at her. “Yes? “ he leans down and gives her one last lick, sending her shuddering again.

“Cullen!”

 “All right, all right,” he concedes on a chuckle, rising to hover above her once again. He stares down at her with passion-darkened eyes and the sight before him sucks the air from his lungs. Her cheeks are flushed, and her pale eyes are hazy with the aftermath of her passion. Her hair is a wild, dark cloud upon the white sheets. “Maker,  you have no notion of how beautiful you are — especially now as you recover from coming apart on my tongue.” 

She smiles at him and reaches up to trace his scar with the tip of her finger.  His heart stops beating for a moment and when it starts again its rhythm stutters like the flutters of a bird beating its wings inside his chest.

He inhales sharply as he watches her grin turn wicked and an eager gleam appears in her eyes. She loops one arm around his neck and raises her head to kiss him.  She presses her body against his as her mouth twists on his, her tongue sliding delicately against his at first, then with more passion.

The tacky feel of the material of his sleep trousers clinging to his groin alerts him that there yet remains a barrier between their bodies.  Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss, leaving them both panting for air.

“Commander — what —“ she stutters, her confused eyes tracing his face.

He smiles reassuringly at her as he lifts himself off her enough to shuck off the thin linen. “Just getting rid of something that was in the way.”

When he settles against her again, he groans at the feeling of her heat against his pulsating cock. “Maker, you’re so wet,” he grinds against her a little, “ I — I need to — I have to — Maker,  I’m not going to last, sweetheart, but I need to —“

She nods her head. “I want this. I want you,” she confirms softly with a sweet smile that almost has him spilling before he has a chance to feel her around him.

A rising euphoria, separate from the hot lust raging through him expands inside his chest, and he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good.  His words catch in his throat, so he lowers his head to kiss her, then carefully watching her face,  he slides into her.

“Ooh,” she gives a little cry, biting her bottom lip and he pauses. Maker, she’s so fucking tight. Her slick walls wrap him in velvet softness, and it’s all he can do to let her adjust to him.

“Is this all right?”

She smiles up at him, one hand coming up to cup his cheek, and again, that euphoria threatens to overwhelm him. 

“Yes, Cullen.”

He thrusts forward again, hilting himself completely before pausing again to let her get used to his girth. Sliding a hand between them, he presses his thumb against her clit and rubs it with a circular motion. Dropping his head, he drags his mouth up to her ear and growls “I want to hear  you shout my name as you shatter around me.”

He presses nibbling kisses against her neck, abrading her skin with his stubbled jaw. She’s going to have marks there tomorrow, but right now, he can’t care about that. Not with her clinging to him, not with her walls squeezing him, driving him closer and closer to his end.

Finally, she comes, keening his name with a loud cry that could surely be heard throughout this wing of the castle at least.

“Oh, yes, Evelyn, yes!” he shouts as he pulls out and spills his seed over her stomach.

Afterward, he collapses at her side, careful to avoid crushing her with his weight. His broad chest heaves with his stuttered breathing, every bit of energy drained from him. Drawing her into his arms, he lets out a contented groan and snuggles his face in the fragrant fall of her hair, his lips brushing her ear.

“Good night, my Evelyn,” he murmurs sleepily, his exhausted body quickly falling into slumber.


	9. Whenever I'm Alone With You

Heat pulls Evelyn out of her slumber, and then she realizes she’s sweaty, sticky, and being held tightly against something.

Someone.

_Cullen._

Her eyes flutter open and she smiles, savoring the feeling of his broad, muscular chest beneath her cheek. She’s curled against his side, one leg thrown over his hips, her arm resting across his chest, her hand softly clinging to his shoulder. His arms are wrapped around her, clutching her to him as if he’s worried she’ll disappear.

She doesn’t even remember falling asleep, so deliciously exhausted the last thing she remembers is him pulling her into his arms and calling her his Evelyn.

He had made love to her, had spent so long being tender, focusing on her, making certain she wanted him. In all her years of imagining her first time, just as with her first kiss, she hadn’t quite been able to comprehend how wonderful it could be. She had heard other mages speak of lovemaking, of sneaking off to corners with their paramours, but nothing they had said came close to the feeling.

Too many of them had told stories of hurried caresses, of things ending too soon, leaving them unsatisfied. And the stories they had told of what he had done to her before he made love to her - using his mouth to devour her - none of them had been able to adequately describe that. Except to say that their lovers only ever did it reluctantly, and Cullen had acted like nothing could have pleased him more.

She peers up into his face, taking in the sight of him looking so relaxed, peacefully slumbering with her in his arms. There’s almost a slight smile tugging up the corner of his mouth, the one graced with a scar, the one she loves so much.

With a sigh she slowly begins to push out of his arms, reluctantly deciding it’s time for her to begin her day if she intends to look presentable for the meetings. He stirs a bit as she slides off the bed, but she grabs her uniform and sneaks into the bathing chamber, closing the door quietly behind her.

Her mind wanders the entire time she gets ready for the day, remembering how his hands and mouth had moved over her body as she washes herself in the tub. She had expected to ache, or be sore, but instead all she feels is peaceful and lethargic, wishing they could climb back in bed and stay there all day.

As she fastens the buttons of her top she catches sight of herself in the mirror and realizes that one side of her neck is marred. Love bites and scratches from his whiskers line the white column of her throat, and she trails her fingers over them. She could heal them, to keep the Banns or anyone else from seeing them, to ensure that rumors didn’t begin to spread.

But she catches her bottom lip and tugs it between her teeth as she remembers how she got them, of the heat of his mouth moving along her sensitive skin. She doesn’t want to erase them, doesn’t want to lose the reminder, and so instead she braids her long hair in a low, full braid and pulls it over her shoulder. She tucks it against her neck and adjusts the collar of her uniform, intending to hide the marks that way.

When she’s satisfied with her handiwork she turns to leave the bathing chamber, noticing that he’s finishing the last of his uniform's fastenings. He glances her way and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk when he catches her eye.

“Good morning,” he greets her, and she timidly walks to stand near him, lingering instead of heading out the door.

“Good morning,” she replies, peering up into his face. There’s a look in his eyes that’s making her heart trip and stutter in its rhythm, and again her mind conjures the image of him above her, the feeling of him moving within her.

He finishes straightening his sash and suddenly pauses, his eyes fixated below her chin. She opens her mouth, intending to ask him if everything is all right, but he raises a hand and brushes her hair aside, tracing the column of her throat with his gloved fingers.

His eyes raise to hers again, and they’re hungry, nearly devouring her in their intensity, a gleam that almost seems like pride shining in the golden depths. Without warning he grips her waist and backs her into the wall, crushing his mouth to hers in a greedy kiss.

She responds eagerly, thrilled by the way he had looked at her, the way that he’s kissing her like he can’t get enough of her. After the night before she hadn’t known what to expect, had thought that maybe he would be sated and no longer want her.

Instead one of his hands is gripping her jaw, holding her head in place so that he can kiss her deeply. It’s suffocating, her breaths coming out in soft gasps, but all she wants is more, for him to kiss her like this forever, for him to drag her back to the bed.

Just as she realizes how positively wanton she’s feeling, he pulls away, his hand still on her jaw as he holds her gaze, commanding her full attention.

“Until tonight, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and he presses a feather light kiss to her lips before he releases her as abruptly as he grabbed her. A smirk comes to his face as he turns away from her, and he saunters to the door of their chamber and leaves.

A few steadying breaths are necessary as she adjusts her hair, trying to make certain it’s covering her throat once more. She hadn’t been expecting that, and her hands are trembling as she tugs at the bottom of her uniform top to straighten it.

Is it possible she’s more to him than the nearest warm body, the latest woman to spread her legs for him?

She had realized it as he made love to her, how assured of himself, how well-versed in lovemaking he is. Really she didn’t mind if that was all she is to him, because any chance to be with him is worth taking at the moment. For all she knows, her work for the Inquisition may lead to her death, and she refuses to let herself continue to live as a scared little bird like she has until this point.

Life’s too short, she decides, and she knows what she wants. Any chance to have it is worth her heart breaking later.

Holding her head high she crosses to the door and exits as well, intending to follow the Commander down to the talks.

“So, little bird, how did you sleep last night?” a drawl greets her, and she jumps slightly as she closes the door.

“Dor-Dorian, I - I slept fine, why?” she asks, insides twisting slightly when she sees the way he seems to be fighting laughter as he leans against the wall by her door.

“You know, I was sound asleep until I heard the most peculiar noise,” he tells her, frowning slightly. “It sounded a bit like a wail - and at first I thought maybe the castle is haunted until I began to understand what it was saying. If I’m not mistaken, it almost sounded like our golden Commander’s na -”

“Shh! Dorian, please,” she pleads, interrupting him as she grabs his arm. “Keep your voice down, I beg you -”

“Wise words, perhaps you should have heeded them last night,” he tells her as he quirks an eyebrow. “So, I take it our little chat the other night helped?”

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tries to insist, but as his pointed stare she sighs and looks around the hall. “All right fine, I - perhaps I - the Commander and I - that is to say -”

“Why, look who’s finally freed of their cage, little bird,” he chuckles, and reaches a hand out to pat her on the shoulder. “You’re positively glowing, so at least the man knows how to please.”

Evelyn feels herself flush at his words, but she doesn’t work to correct him, instead smoothing the braid against her neck and saying a quick prayer that he doesn’t notice the marks on her flesh. Before she gets a chance to do anything else to distract him, two more figures approach from further down the hall and she turns.

“Ah! In-Inquisitor, it’s - lovely to see you this morning,” Josephine greets her, and she clears her throat and looks further down the hall, not meeting Evelyn’s gaze. “Shall we proceed to the talks?”

“In a moment, Josie,” Leliana says from beside her. “Inquisitor, if I may have a moment of your time?”

“Of - of course,” Evelyn nods jerkily and she gulps as she follows Leliana to one of the rooms further down the hall.

_I want to hear you shout my name as you shatter around me._

The hoarse whisper in her ear as he thrust into her echoes through her mind as her spymaster walks to a trunk in the bedroom she led her to. Her heart is racing but she doesn’t fully know why, and she clenches her fists and tries to steady herself. Had they done something wrong, maybe?

Leliana turns back to face her, holding a few vials of a translucent, chartreuse liquid. “Here, Inquisitor,” she says as she passes them to Evelyn. “I always deem it prudent to carry some of these with me. One never knows.”

And to her surprise, the spymaster winks and smiles at her.

“I - is this - witherstalk?” Evelyn asks, but she feels herself flush.

Their walls had definitely not been very thick, it seems.

“Yes, it is,” Leliana nods. “I am assuming you - ah - did not have any with you, all things considered. No need to worry, you should still be within the window of time.”

“I - he - oh,” she stutters out but falls silent, catching herself before she blurts out the correction she wants to. “Th-thank you, Leliana. For some reason, I thought - perhaps - maybe you were going to scold me.”

“Scold you?” Leliana quirks an eyebrow and gives an uncharacteristic giggle. “Why, Inquisitor - you are both adults, and quite unattached. I have noticed your mutual attraction, after all - I assumed it was only a matter of time.”

“You - I thought maybe, since he’s the Commander, and I’m -”

“What would that have to do with anything? You’re both still capable of performing your duties, even if you have entered into a - how shall I put it delicately - dalliance?” the Spymaster shrugs. “I trust neither of you will let it interfere. Maker knows you could use a break, and why shouldn’t you enjoy yourself? And if I’m not mistaken, you did.”

Again Leliana winks at her before she gestures for Evelyn to precede her out of the room. They fall into step beside one another as Evelyn slips the vials into the pocket of her jacket. There’s enough for the rest of the week they will be staying at Redcliffe, and she marvels at the foresight of the Spymaster.

She really does know everything.

“Perhaps keep your affairs private, for the time being,” Leliana cautions her softly as they make their way down the hall. “Some of these Banns - we do not want to give them any fodder against us, hm?”

“Of course, Leliana,” Evelyn nods.

“I’ll speak with the Commander about the thickness of the walls, as well,” and Leliana giggles once more as they make their way to the summit room.

 

* * *

 

The talks are more than stagnant, as Cullen had described them the day before. The entire time that Evelyn sits listening to the Banns bicker, her mind wanders. She wishes she was back at the lake with him, or back in their room.

Her knees are weak when she remembers, and she squeezes her thighs together under the table when her mind conjures the feeling of his tongue sliding against her excited pearl. No matter how hard she tries to focus on the talks, she can’t.

She wants him again, and she fidgets and runs her fingers over her lips, trying to avoid looking at him too often. Luckily the wing their room is in is only housing the other members of the Inquisition, but Leliana had been right to warn her. She doesn’t want the Banns to know what had happened the night before between the Inquisitor and her Commander.

Smoothing her loose braid against her neck once more she tries to refocus on the talks, leaning forward in her chair in an attempt to pay closer attention. She glances to the side and catches his eye, and he gives her a small smirk before he turns his gaze to the Bann currently speaking. That simple gesture is almost enough to undo her composure, and she quickly looks away to steady herself, catching her lip between her teeth.

“You have men of your own, you shouldn’t have to solely rely on the Inquisition for these tasks,” she hears him protest, and she can tell there’s a hint of irritation in his voice. All day, they’ve been at this all day, bickering and getting nowhere.

He must be frustrated. She knows that she certainly is, for more reasons than one.

“Your decision, your people, those _mages_ , are the reason the area is in the state it is -”

“The fighting between the Templars and the mages was the cause, and the Inquisition did what your men were unable to,” Cullen counters heatedly.

“Why should our men work with your Orlesian Inquisition? We have no influence, no way to guarantee that you would work for our best interests,” Bann Erroll protests.

“I agree, at best our men would be put to work to achieve the plans of your Orlesian force -” Bann Teagan chimes in.

“Please, my lord, we are not an _Orlesian_ force -” Josephine begins for what must be the twentieth time since talks began.

“Perhaps if we had a guarantee of influence, a permanent way to secure our alliance,” Bann Erroll muses slowly.

“And how would you secure it?” Cullen questions, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

“Why, the way these sorts of alliances have been secured for ages,” the Bann continues, looking around at his fellows. “I know I have a son of suitable age, eligible for the match. And the Inquisitor, well - she may have been a part of the Circle, but things as they are now - I don’t see why that would be an issue.”

Evelyn frowns at the words, sitting up in her chair abruptly. Surely the man isn’t suggesting what she thinks he is, surely he wouldn’t settle for such a simple, ridiculous solution -

“Absolutely not,” Cullen grits out, swiping with a hand to emphasize his refusal.

“Commander, please,” Josephine implores him, shooting him a silencing and pleading look. “What would you suggest, my lord?”

“Perhaps we could discuss the matter further in private, Madame Ambassador?” Bann Erroll suggests, and he quirks one fuzzy eyebrow as his eyes fixate on Evelyn.

She resists the urge to shudder, instead glancing aside at her advisors. Surely they wouldn’t consider it, it’s absurd. Josephine is scribbling in her notes like always, and when Leliana catches her eye she gives a minute shake of her head before she looks away.

Cullen is staring at the table in front of him, one of his fists clenched where it rests, and she can see even from where she’s sitting that his cheek muscles are flexing.

She isn’t the only one who seems less than pleased by the way the talks are going.

“I believe we’ve done all that we can for the day,” Bann Teagan sighs. “Please, let us adjourn, that way you can meet with Madame Ambassador, Erroll.”

Evelyn’s heart sinks, but there isn’t anything to be done as everyone begins to mutter and push their chairs away from the table, intending to retire for the evening.

 

* * *

 

A tumult of emotions pour through her as she closes the door to the bathing chamber and leans back against it. Shutting her eyes she takes a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Her mind is racing, unable to focus on one thought, one feeling.

An alliance.

She never thought something like this would happen, not after she was sent to the Circle as a child, and certainly never like this. Traded as a bargain for what - an agreement over a few hundred men? A show of goodwill towards those who had done nothing but doubt her, question her, deride her until now?

Of course, something like this had to happen after she had found someone who interests her, when she has more to lose than just her freedom of choice. And Cullen -

He had looked so upset, barely saying a word to her as they entered their room, his jaw still clenched tight.

She tries to distract herself, trying to assure herself that nothing can come of it. There’s hardly any value to the Inquisition, Josephine will just hear them out as a matter of courtesy.

That’s all.

Willing it to be true, Evelyn undoes the plait in her hair and begins to run her fingers through it. Cullen is angry, obviously irritated because of the talks, but still she finds herself hoping that he’ll pursue her again. Yet if he thinks that she may soon be betrothed…

With a frown she worries her bottom lip as she hurriedly shrugs out of her uniform. She won’t, she can’t be married off like this to some sodding son of a Fereldan Bann. Not like this, for barely anything in trade, and especially not when she finally got her heart’s desire - the affection and attention of her handsome Commander.

She pulls her nightshift over her head and down her naked body before absently running her fingers through her hair as she thinks. One last moment’s hesitation and she makes up her mind, summoning all the courage she has within her. After the previous night, she feels bolder, more assured that her attempts will be welcome.

Plus, she wants to show him, wants to find a way to reassure him that she doesn’t want what was suggested. She wants him, only him, even if it’s just temporary, even if it’s just until he tires of her.

When she opens the door she finds him sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from her as he tugs off his boots. One last deep breath and she begins to cross the room with whisper soft steps. He finishes tugging his second boot off as she approaches him, and he heaves an irritated sigh as he throws it aside. She circles the bed, not allowing herself to doubt, intention and sudden confidence flooding her.

With an easy grace that surprises her, she gently pushes him back and slides into his lap, her arms wrapping around his neck as her knees take their place on either side of his hips.

“Evelyn -” he murmurs, and he sounds surprised.

But she leans forward and presses her lips to his, silencing any doubts, any refusals, any hesitations. For a moment she wonders if he’ll deny her, but his arms wrap tightly around her suddenly as he slants his mouth against hers, allowing them to deepen the kiss.

Her fingers twist in the hair at the back of his head, and her hips instinctively writhe in his lap, grinding down against his groin. She can feel him hardening in his breeches, and she moans softly as she twists her tongue around his.

“Cullen, darling,” she gasps as she pulls away. “I - I want you, I want -”

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he purrs. “All you have to do is ask.”

“I - I want to feel you inside me,” she breathes. “I’ve thought about it all day, I - I never expected -”

She loses her words, feeling herself flush as she thinks about the brazen things she’s saying to him. Sudden doubt rears its head again when she realizes what she said, what she called him. He can’t feel the same, he can’t understand how dear he is to her, how much she’s wanted this.

“Tell me, Evelyn,” he whispers and he leans forward and brushes his lips against hers. “I want to hear you say it, love.”

“I can’t stop thinking about how you felt,” she answers impulsively, his soft commands making the words pour out before she can stop them. “The way you made me - the way I fell apart. I - I want to, again. I want to - I want to make love to you.”

He smirks and leans back slightly, bracing himself with one hand on the edge of the bed, the other cupping her rear and softly stroking her with his thumb. “Is that so?” he asks.

“Y-yes,” she answers. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she reaches down to the laces on his breeches. He waits patiently as she fumbles with them, and once they’re open she slides her hand tentatively under the waist.

When her fingers make contact with his hard cock he moans and leans his head back on his shoulders, his eyes fluttering shut. She hesitantly explores him for a moment, trailing her fingers up and down his length before she shifts so that she can free him from the confines of his breeches.

Closing her fingers around his girth she pumps him slowly, enjoying the velvety feeling of his skin, watching closely as his breathing becomes shallow, the lump in his throat bobbing as he swallows hard.

“Maker’s breath, Evelyn - yes,” he breathes.

She leans forward and presses her lips to his jaw, enjoying the rough feeling of his whiskers against her soft skin. Trailing kisses up to his mouth, she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and gently tugs it, eliciting a moan from him.

Remembering his growled command the night before, she leans back and grabs the hem of her nightshift, pulling it swiftly over her head.

He hums appreciatively. “No smalls, sweetheart?” he teases lightly.

“I - I wanted -” she murmurs, leaning forward to brush her lips against his as his hand moves to cup one of her breasts. A moan interrupts her words, her neck arching as she savors the feeling of his rough skin against her sensitive nipple. “C-Cullen -”

“Do you like that, Evelyn?” he asks, slowing the way he’s caressing her as if he’s teasing.

“Yes,” she gasps, instinctively rolling her hips against his, and when she rubs against his hard length he groans. She needs more, she needs the feeling from the night before, an ache in the pit of her stomach beginning as she thinks about how full she had felt. “Please -”

He slides his hand from her breast to the apex of her legs, easily finding the bundle of nerves and swirling his knuckle over it. When he slides his fingers lower and slips two inside without any trouble he groans, resting his forehead against her collarbone.

“Maker, sweetheart - you’re so ready for me,” he praises softly.

She returns her hand to his cock, more intentional in the way she’s stroking him, letting her instincts guide her. He moans and thrusts up into her fist, pulling his fingers from her so he can grip her hips tightly with both hands. It’s nearly unbearable, the aching in her belly reaching a fever pitch, and she lifts her hips and uses her hand to direct him to her.

His fingers tighten where he holds her as she slides herself down his length, taking him within her in one slow downward stroke. He groans and his head snaps forward, resting against her collarbone once more. She sighs his name, clenching her eyes shut as she adjusts to the feeling of fulfillment that blossoms within her.

“So good, love,” he almost slurs, pressing kisses against her throat.

After another moment’s hesitation she clasps his shoulders and braces her knees on the bed, slowly pushing up and then lowering herself once more. It takes her a few thrusts before she finds her rhythm, and she begins to bounce herself on him, rolling her hips slightly each time she manages to take him in to the hilt.

Every movement of him within her sends shockwaves racing through her, and every time she covers him entirely she moans, her eyelids fluttering shut. His powerful hands are still grasping her hips tightly, helping grant her more leverage as she thrusts against him.

“Cullen - you feel - Maker, I -” she bites her bottom lip as she grinds herself down on him, crying out softly at the feeling.

He shifts suddenly, laying back on the bed with a throaty moan. “Yes, sweetheart - just like that,” he tells her. His hands are still gripping her hips, helping increase her rhythm against him. “I want to watch you - Maker, you’re so beautiful like this.”

She whimpers at his praise, feeling herself clench slightly around him. It’s bubbling up inside her, rising to the surface, the same overwhelming sensations from the previous night. He groans as if he can tell, and he moves one hand from her hip to her swollen pearl, worrying it with his finger as he begins thrusting up to meet her. Gasping cries meet his actions, the powerful way he’s moving against her making the edges of her vision blacken.

“Cullen - I’m - I’m going to -” she lets out a sob. “Come with me, please - please, please -”

“I shouldn’t -” he begins but she shakes her head.

“It’s all right - please, please, please,” she continues begging, and after a moment’s hesitation he doubles his efforts, pulling her down to meet his thrusts as his thumb continues to swirl over her sensitive nub.

Her vision blackens and she gasps before she presses her lips firmly together, luckily remembering the thin walls just in time as she falls apart. His deep moans mingle with her stifled whimpers as they finish in tandem, and she rolls her hips against him as if she can coax more from him.

When they both finish she collapses on him, burying her face against his neck as she tries to catch her breath.

“Cullen, I - that was -” she sighs. “That was wonderful.”

He hums softly. “It was, love,” he tells her, reaching a hand up to stroke her hair.

She regains her wits enough to push off of him, her legs shaking slightly as she tries to cross the room to her trunk. Digging through the top contents she finds one of the vials of witherstalk, and pulls the cork out so that she can drain the sap in one gulp.

“Witherstalk?” his deep voice sounds from behind her, heavy and slow as if it’s taking him a great deal of effort to speak.

“Yes,” she sighs, scrunching her nose slightly at the taste. “Leliana - um - that is -”

To her surprise he laughs. “I should have known.”

“Did she - did she say something to you?” she asks as she tries to walk back to the bed, but she almost stumbles, her legs weak and shaking. Falling on the bed she giggles softly, curling up on the pillow as she watches him kick his legs to finally shuck off his breeches.

“No, but we were not exactly quiet,” he chuckles and clambers onto the bed, collapsing back onto the pillows. He gathers her into his arms, tucking her against his side easily, as if she belongs there. “At least she had witherstalk,” he mumbles sleepily and pulls the blankets up to cover them both.

“Mmm, you’re right,” she agrees softly, her eyes weighed down with exhaustion. “Cullen?”

“Yes, Evelyn?”

She’s silent for a moment, warring with herself, resisting what she wants to say, resisting any of the thoughts or feelings she wants to confess.

“Good night,” she finally murmurs.

“Good night, my Evelyn,” he agrees, his arms tightening around her as he buries his face in her hair, and sleep overtakes them both.


	10. I Taste the Sparks on Your Tongue

He shifts and hums in his sleep as soft lips feather lightly along his scar. Golden amber eyes slowly slide open to meet pale eyes of lightning. A sleepy smirk torques a corner of his mouth as he raises a hand to brush her hair back. “Good morning, love.”

She leans back and drags her hands down his chest, her nails raking through the dusting of hair covering it, a coy, yet sweet smile on her rosy lips. “Good morning, darling. I hope you slept well.”

He stretches and yawns expansively. “Quite well after our — activities,” he lifts an eyebrow,” and you?  I trust your sleep was as good as mine.”

Evelyn straddles his supine body, settling herself over his rock-hard arousal and grinding her naked body against him. She giggles at the groan her actions pull from him. “Can’t you tell? I had a very good sleep — Cullen!” she shrieks as he rocks his hips upward, knocking her forward and down into his waiting arms.

“Minx,” he scolds playfully, capturing her lips with his. One hand slides up her back to settle in her hair while the other squeezes her pert ass.

He rolls them over until she lies beneath him and kisses her hungrily. He cups a firm breast, brushing its stiffened nipple with his thumb as he drags his mouth down her jaw to the pulse point in her throat. “Maker, you drive me mad,” he whispers, licking her there before applying a gentle suction with his mouth. “I cannot get enough of you.”

“Cullen, please,” she arches against him, raking his chest with her nipples.

He brushes his lips against her ear. “Please what,” he licks her earlobe, “tell me.”

She tosses her head, her raven hair fanning across the pillow. “Please, Cullen, I need you so,” she whispers, biting her lower lip. “Please, darling.”

Darling. She called him darling. Again. Her words and the sight of her, lying so wanton beneath him tightens the muscles in his lower body, his cock and balls heavy and aching.

“Is this what you need, sweetheart?” he cups her, and parting her folds, he begins playing with her pearl.  Her breath hitches, and he smiles. “Ah, yes, you like that, don’t you, love?”

“Cul-len,” she breaks his name into two syllables, jerking her hips against his teasing fingers in the search for friction.

He hums and applies more pressure, flicking his thumb back and forth as he enters her with his index and middle fingers. She cries out, bucking at his hand more insistently and he knows she’s almost there — so close, and then —

There is a knock on the door.

Fuck!

The motion of his hand freezes at the sound, and she mewls in protest. “Shh,” he hisses, “perhaps if we are quiet whoever it is will go away.”

Evelyn nods and they both wait silently to see if the knock comes again. Cullen smirks and flicks his thumb over her nub, earning a sharp intake of air from her followed by a pout. It’s so adorable, he wants to kiss it off her lips.

The knock sounds again followed by the cultured Antivan accent of their Ambassador. “Commander, Inquisitor, I have an important matter to discuss.”

Cullen groans and hangs his head on his chest. “I suppose we should see what this is about, hm?”

“I suppose,” she sulks, pulling the duvet up to cover herself.

He winks and rolls off the bed, pulling a sheet with him. Damn Josephine. Wrapping the sheet around his waist, he pads to the door and looks back at her.

“We will see what she wants, then get back to what we were doing. Ready, love?” at her nod, he opens the door and scowls down at the Antivan standing outside, ever-present tablet in her hand. “What?”

“Oh, goodness! I hadn’t realized — that is — I apologize for — er — interrupting.” Josephine’s dusky skin flushes with embarrassment.

Cullen steps back to allow the flustered woman to enter, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Yet you still did, so why do you not just come in and tell us this news that can’t wait until a decent hour?”

“Well,” Josephine begins,  glancing at Evelyn who has covered herself up to her nose and is blushing furiously from what little he can see of her skin through the blankets and the curtain of her hair. “I have spoken to Bann Erroll about his — proposal for an alliance. He offers his son, Lord Hugh, who is apparently on his way here at this very moment to meet you.”

Cullen’s scowl deepens. “No. This is ridiculous. I will not allow it.”

“Really, Commander, I realize that you — that you —“ Josephine gestures at him —

“That I what. Ambassador?” he straightens to his full imposing height,”go on, say it —“

“Wait!” calls a sharp voice from the bed and the two advisors stop arguing to look at the tiny woman bundled in the blankets.  Evelyn lowers the duvet fractionally and turns her pale eyes on the Ambassador. “Is this alliance important for the Inquisition?”

Josephine glares up at him and turns to the Inquisitor. “In a word — yes,” she brushes by him and perches on the side of the bed beside Evelyn. “An alliance with Bann Erroll would grant the Inquisition status and influence in Ferelden.”

“Oh, come now, Ambassador,” he shakes his head, throwing his hands up in the air as he paces back and forth in front of the bed, “surely there are ways of garnering Fereldan support that do not involve auctioning off the Inquisitor to some self-important noble’s get!”

Evelyn tightens her jaw and raises her chin. “I’ll do it, Josie, if it is that important.”

Josephine bows her head. “It is.” She gathers her tablet and gets to her feet. “Lord Hugh will meet you after luncheon in the library. “And you —“ she levels a stern look at Cullen. “Will not interfere?”

He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Fine.”

The Antivan nods in satisfaction and bustles out of the room.

As the door shuts behind her, Cullen sighs and approaches Evelyn who still sits in her mound of blankets looking so forlorn that he wants to ring that fool Bann Erroll’s neck for bringing up such a preposterous suggestion in the first place.

Sitting down beside her, he gently lifts her chin with a knuckle. Her unique eyes shine with unshed tears, and it breaks his heart to see them.  “You do not have to do this, sweetheart. Please tell me you understand that.”

Evelyn pulls away from him and gets up on the other side of the bed. She turns around to look at him, starshine eyes serious and her mouth set in a grim line. “I have more to think about now than just me. I-if you’ll excuse me, I should get ready for this morning’s meetings.”

His heart sinks as he watches her disappear into the bathing room. He squeezes his eyes shut against the headache starting above his left eyebrow.

Perfect. Just bloody perfect. Could this day get any worse?

 

* * *

 

The morning’s meetings do not improve Cullen’s headache, and by the time luncheon rolls around, he finds he has no appetite.  The thought of food rather turns his stomach, actually, so rather than shoving his uneaten food around on his plate, he heads out to the barracks. Perhaps a bit of fresh air and exercise would help him feel better. Maker knows the miasma of odors surrounding him from the nobles’ colognes have not helped him any.

He finds Rylen speaking with a mixed group of Inquisition soldiers and the Bann’s men. He catches the chestnut-haired man’s eye and gives him a short nod, then finds a section of barracks wall to lean against as he waits for his second-in-command to finish.

Maker, what a bloody disaster this day is turning into, and it is not yet half over. He caught a glimpse of the young nobleman they intended to barter Evelyn off to, and as much as Cullen hates to admit it, even to himself, he acknowledges that they would make a fine pair. Lord Hugh is everything Cullen is not:  he is much closer to Evelyn’s age, a noble, and most importantly, without scars or addiction to lyrium.

His hands fist at his sides as his jaw flexes.  And yet, even the thought of another man touching Evelyn is enough to make his blood boil. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, willing for the throbbing in his skull to diminish. Maker grant him the strength to stand aside for her benefit and the benefit of the Inquisition.

“What’s got you looking so glum, mate?” Cullen opens his eyes to find the merry aqua gaze of his Second watching him.

“Come, Rylen,” he ignores the other man’s question, instead opting to push himself off the wall and grab a practice sword and shield from the rack. He tosses a glance back at him before stalking off toward the training ring. “Spar with me,” he calls over his shoulder, “I need some exercise else all the rich food in there will make me soft.”

Rylen grins, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. “You’re on, mate! Prepare to get set on your stiff Fereldan arse!” He grabs up his own weapon and shield and follows his Commander into the training ring.

Cullen smirks, lifting one golden eyebrow as he shrugs out of his shirt, tossing it to hang on the fence surrounding the small arena. “You think so, eh? Come on, then, Starkhaven, let’s see you  try.”

Stripping out of his own shirt, Rylen squares off opposite Cullen. “So,” he says, taking an opening swing at the Commander. Cullen brings his sword up, and the two blades make contact with a clang. “I hear that you and the Inquisitor have been keeping people awake with your carryings on. About time you made your move!”

Cullen shoves the other man back with a powerful lunge. “Who has been talking?” he growls. “I’ll see them sent to the Hissing Wastes for a month!”

Rylen chuckles, blocking Cullen’s blows with his shield. “Oh, come now, Commander! You want everyone to know the lass is yours!”

Trading blow for blow, Cullen and Rylen dance around each other. Cullen sees an opening in the other man’s defenses and takes advantage of it to strike a glancing clip to the man’s ribs. “What Evelyn and I do in private is meant to remain that way,” he brings up his shield to block a strike from  Rylen.

“Evelyn, now, is it?” the chestnut-haired man snorts a laugh. “Aye, that’s what you tell yourself! You have it bad, mate. Tell me, have you told the lass how you feel about her yet?”

Cullen grits his teeth and launches a flurry of attacks in rapid succession, which Rylen blocks handily with his shield. “Tell her what? She knows I want her. Not that any of it matters now.”

“And why would that be? I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She’s as barmy for you as you are for her.”

“Because she is  to be promised to another man!” Cullen grits out, his defenses slipping enough for Rylen to get in a blow to his flank. “A bloody noble. For the Inquisition. Josephine arranged it, and the Inquisitor agreed to it.”

Rylen stops and drops his sword and shield, bending forward to catch his breath, his hands on his thighs. Wheezing, Cullen does the same.

Rylen turns serious aqua eyes on his friend. “Are you really going to let some blasted noble take your lass?”

Cullen shakes his head, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “I do not see that I have much choice.”

Rylen scoffs, one arm slicing the air in a decisive gesture. “There is always a choice, mate. At least tell her how you feel. Give her a real choice. Remember what you told me when I was driving you batty with talk of my Abigail?”

Cullen grabs his shirt and slips it on. “That’s completely different, and you know it. Evelyn is the _Inquisitor_ and a noble. And I — I am far from the ideal choice of man for her — even without this alliance nonsense.”

Rylen crosses his arms over his chest and looks pointedly at him. “Now that is just about the biggest bucket of drivel that I’ve ever heard.” He claps Cullen on the shoulder. “Tell her, mate.”

Cullen can’t help but smile. His Second is always good for lifting his spirits. He nods his head. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for the spar.”

“Do more than think, mate,” Rylen tosses after him. Cullen shakes his head, chuckling as he crosses the yard toward the castle.

 

* * *

 

The nobles loitering in the front hall stare at him as he stalks past them. He knows he must a look a sight, his shirt clinging damply to his sweaty skin and his hair rumpled, the curls coming loose from the pomade he uses to tame them. Cullen pointedly ignores their outraged gasps. They already think him a common boor. His appearance now cannot bring their estimation of him much lower.

Venturing deeper into the labyrinthine castle hallways, he comes to a stop at an intersection. The lighting is dim here, with only a few candle sconces lit during the daylight hours. Cullen looks to his right and left. The library. Where is it? It’s around here somewhere; he remembers Arl Teagan showing them the book-filled room during their tour when they first arrived.

“No!”

“Inquisitor?”

Jaw clenched and his hands curled into fists, Cullen tears down the hallway in the direction of Evelyn’s plaintive cry. Maker, if that blighter has harmed her in any way —  when he bursts through the library door, his temper, already lit up, explodes.

Her _betrothed_ has Evelyn trapped against the bookshelves with his arms on either side of her shoulders. She stands stiff, eyes wide and apprehensive. Lightning arcs between her fingers, hissing and sizzling in the quiet of the room.

“Come now, girlie,” he coos, his face inches from Evelyn’s, “give us a kiss. Just one little kiss. We’re to be married, after all.”

“L-Lord Hugh, please, I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers, her voice full of fear.

He’s on the blighter in an instant, a red haze covering his vision. He pulls the younger man away from her and grabs him by his collar, lifting him off his feet. Pulling back his arm, he punches Lord Hugh in the face, knocking him across the room.The red-haired man tumbles against a spindly-looking chair and table set, sending the pieces loudly clattering to the floor. Cullen growls under his breath and is about to go after him to take him apart when a tug on his arm stops him.

“Cullen, no! Stop!” Evelyn cries, clinging to his arm as tears stream down her cheeks. Her trembling voice and the soft touch on his arm bring him to his senses, and he stops, turning to look at her. Her face is pale, and she is shaking.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs to her, pushing her behind him as the younger man stumbles to his feet, wiping at the blood pouring from his cut lip. He glares at Cullen and Evelyn but says nothing to them as he turns toward the library door.

“Papa,” he whines, running out of the room and down the hallway. “Papa a man —“ his voice echoes against the stone walls, quickly attenuating into unintelligible garbles.

Cullen turns toward Evelyn and cups her cheek with one large hand. “Are you all right, sweetheart? Did that cretin harm you? Maker — when I heard you cry out I —“

“I’m fine, Cullen, “ she says stiffly, refusing to meet his eyes. “Please just take me back to our room.”  A sharp cold dread fills his chest at the chill in her tone.

Maker, what had he done? He swallows and nods jerkily, setting aside the tumult in his gut. He’ll deal with the aftermath later. Right now, she needs him to be strong and steady.

“Of course, love,” he sweeps her easily into his arms, and cradling her gently against his chest, he carries her back to the guest wing and their room, still seething inside.

 

* * *

 

Once back in their room, he sets her down and kneels in front of her. Picking up her small hand, he strokes her palm gently. “Are you certain you’re unhurt?”

She pulls away from him and frowns, crossing her arms over her breasts. “You shouldn’t have punched him, Commander. “

Commander, is it? Cullen gets to his feet, shaking his head and scratching behind an ear. “And what should I have done then, _Inquisitor_?” he emphasizes her title, “allow that arse of a man-boy to continue molesting you?”

“I can defend myself,” she contests sharply,  lightning sparking between the fingers of her raised hands. “What if you have ruined the Inquisition’s chances for an alliance? What, then?”

He steps up to her then and grips her by her shoulders. “Then we find another way. And even If we cannot, Bann Erroll’s support is not worth selling you off like chattel to someone like that!”

Evelyn’s lips tremble and tears pool in her eyes. A sharp pain to rival the renewed throbbing in his skull pierces his heart. He tugs her close and envelops her in his arms. This time, she doesn’t pull away; instead, she collapses against him, sobs wracking her fragile shoulders as her tears dampen the material of his shirt.

“Oh, Cullen, what am I even doing?” she wails, “I’m just a Circle mage — a nobody. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Sshh,” he soothes, guiding her to the bed. He sits down and pulls her into his lap, cradling her against him as he presses soft kisses to her forehead. “You are more capable than you realize. And you are not in this alone.”

Ignoring his words, she pulls back to regard him with serious eyes and raises a hand to cup his cheek. “Please, darling, just make love to me.  I want to forget this horrible day.”

“I am at your service, my lady,”  he says softly, dipping his head to capture her lips in a kiss that starts off light and deepens slowly. His hands hold her in place to keep her where he wants her. When he breaks the kiss, he smirks at her, tugging at the material of her uniform jacket. “Off,” he commands.

She returns his smirk and plucks at the material of his shirt in turn. “Off.”

Impatient, feverish hands go to work on each other’s clothing, sending buttons and clasps pinging across the room. Shirts, boots, and socks get tossed haphazardly on the floor, forgotten. Cullen grins, pushing her backward on the bed as his hands hook in the waistband of her uniform trousers along with her smalls, and push them down impatiently, helping her to wiggle free of their constraints.

Once they are both naked, Cullen crawls over her, dragging his leaking cock up her legs to nestle it against her heat.  His hands cup her breasts, palming her nipples as he squeezes them together. She arches into him and buries her fingers in his hair as he leans down to kiss her again.

His lips find their way to her neck, kissing behind her ear and trailing down to her shoulder while a hand slides south to investigate her folds. “Maker, you’re so wet, sweetheart,” he bites her shoulder, making her moan his name. “Oh yes, I love the sound of my name on your lips. I’ll never tire of hearing you call out to me when I am pleasuring you.”

He smiles as he sinks two fingers inside her and flicks at her pearl with his thumb. She stiffens and jerks at his touch and his cock throbs with the need to be inside her. Sticky fluid coats his lower belly where the tip comes in contact.

“Cullen, darling,” she whispers urgently as her fingers twist in his thick blond hair, “Please.”

“What do you need?” he drags his fingers against her upper wall while maintaining pressure on her nub. Evelyn moans and thrashes her head against the blankets, mewling. “What was that? I didn’t hear you, love.”

Her features wrinkle, her pale skin ruddy with excitement. “Please, darling. I need you,” she pleads, lifting herself up to kiss him, arms wrapped around his neck for leverage.

He returns her kiss as he removes his fingers and positions himself at her entrance. Lips locked and tongues twisting together, he takes her moans into his mouth as he sheathes himself inside her. Snapping his hips once, he stills for a moment, keeping his fingers active on her clit. She tightens down on him, making him shudder, his insides turning to jelly.

“Ah, yes, love, do that again,” he closes his eyes and flicks her pearl, “Maker, you are so tight — perfection,” the word trails off into a hum of pleasure as she tightens her muscles around him again.

“Cullen, I’m going to —“ her body twitches and shivers beneath him. She is the right there, right on the precipice, and he wants to feel it, wants to feel her tumble off of it with him nestled inside her.

“Come for me, sweetheart, like the good girl you are.  My good girl.”

“Yes!” she cries out as her end consumes her. “Cullen, my darling, you’re the only — the only —“

He silences her words with a hard kiss as he kneels, lifting her with him and urging her long, slender legs to wrap around his waist. He grips her ass as he starts to move inside her, thrusting up powerfully with his muscular hips, setting up a rhythm that she quickly picks up on.

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” he growls, shifting his hold from her ass to her lower back. Pistoning up and down, he angles his hips to penetrate her more deeply, drawing little moaning cries from her as she bounces on his cock. “I’m — oh, Maker!”

The muscles in his hips and lower belly tighten as his vision explodes in white-hot sparks. He jerks and shudders as he comes. Evelyn keens his name as she finds her second completion, her body clinging to him as his seed fills her.

His arms wrap around her, holding her against him as he murmurs soft words of nonsense into the fall of her hair. After a few moments, he scrambles off the bed and carries her into the bathing room where he sets her down on the counter and gently washes them both with warm water from the piping system.

As he works, the events of the day come crashing back down on him. He frowns, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. What a bogle he’s made of things. He hates to think what Josephine and Leliana will have to say to him in the morning.

Fuck.

“Cullen, are you all right?” her soft, concerned voice makes his heart hurt. He doesn’t deserve her concern. At all. Not after everything he has done.

“It is naught but a headache, love,” he forces a smile, “a good night’s rest in your arms will fix it.”

Evelyn looks skeptical. “Are you sure?” she jumps off the counter and takes one of his hands to give it a gentle squeeze. “You get an awful lot of headaches, dearest. Have you seen a healer about them?”

“It’s nothing,” he insists. “Just stress.”

“All right, but —“

“I’m going to bed,” he interrupts curtly as he turns toward the door. “Are you coming?”

“Y- yes, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she answers, and the knots in his stomach tighten at the hurt tone in her voice.

Void take it all!

Crawling under the covers and stretching out his aching body, Cullen sighs heavily as he listens to her moving around in the bathing room. She called him darling, said she was his. Would she still think so after he tells her about the lyrium? About his past?

Closing his eyes, he sends up a silent prayer to the Maker to let it be so, for she is rapidly becoming his new addiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Lord Hugh:
> 
>  


	11. Oh I Know That Love is All About the Wind, How It Can Hold Me Up and Kill Me in The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, because we added it after the update, Lord Hugh's face claim is at the end of last chapter in the notes.
> 
> <3

Evelyn turns her head, rubbing her cheek on the pillow, but even with her eyes closed she can tell the sun is bright, warming her skin to tell her that morning has come. She needs to get out of bed, but she doesn’t want to. The Fade had tormented her all night, and all she wants to do is sleep away the day and hope that the Fade will let her rest.

Stretching out a hand to the other side of the bed, her brows knit together in a sharp frown and she finally opens her eyes.

She’s alone.

“Cullen?” she calls softly, raising her head to look around the room.

No answer greets her.

With a heavy sigh she drops her head to the pillow, shutting her eyes tight as her mind begins to race. If only this, too, were another taunting from the Fade. But she knows she’s awake, and that means that he snuck out of the room as she slept, leaving her alone without a word. When she had come out of the bathing chamber the night before, he had had his back turned to her, already breathing deeply as if asleep.

They hadn’t spoken since he’d snapped at her and stormed out of the bathing chamber, and she wonders what had changed. Perhaps he had simply been in pain. He had admitted to a headache, and she had noticed that he happened to get frequent, intense headaches. But there seemed to be more to it, especially after the way he had reacted when he caught her in the library with Lord Hugh.

She groans and buries her face deeper into her pillow as she remembers. The conversation had been stilted, uncomfortable. It was clear that her potential betrothed was used to having his way in all things, but was boring and more than a little full of himself. Like most nobles were, in her experience.

He seemed to think the arrangement was already set in stone, though, because he had begun to press her for her favor, and when she had laughed disbelievingly and denied him he had pushed harder. Honestly, he had reminded her of Grayson, unwilling to take no for an answer, unwilling to accept that perhaps she didn’t want the same thing he did. Lord Hugh was handsomer than Grayson, that much was true, but she felt the same level of discomfort around them both, the same urge to hide herself and run away at the sight of them.

She wanted to think that what Cullen had walked in on had been a misunderstanding, but he had it right - Lord Hugh had cornered her, refusing to let her go unless she gave him a kiss.

_“After all, we’ll be married soon,” he had said._

If she was perfectly honest with herself, she was glad that Cullen had interrupted when he did. Otherwise she might have let loose her lightning and caused even more problems than they were facing with her potential match simply being punched by her Commander. She wants to think that Cullen did it for her, but after how he had acted afterwards all she can think is that he had simply been protecting the Herald of Andraste.

Perhaps he is finally sick of her. Perhaps he’d only taken her the night before because she asked him to, and he had simply seen the chance for an easy tumble. Again.

With another frustrated groan into her pillow, she tries to push that thought aside, willing herself to blame his actions on the headache he had confessed to. She heaves a sigh and slides out of bed finally, but instead of grabbing her uniform she pulls on a loose linen blouse and her leather breeches, slipping her feet into her leather slippers. She doesn’t bother weaving her long hair into a plait, instead she hurries out the door.

The desire to look for Cullen seizes her, but she bites her lip and instead forces herself to hurry down the hall. Knocking briskly on the wooden door, she folds her arms across her chest as she looks up and down the hallway.

“Inquisitor!” the surprised Antivan accent greets her. “Can we assist with something?”

“Can I come in, Josie?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady as she tightens how she’s holding her arms to hide her shaking hands.

“Of course,” her Ambassador steps aside and Evelyn walks past her.

It’s early in the morning but already Josephine is in her uniform, ready to start her day. Leliana is perched on the bed, her legs folded under her, wearing a green silk robe as she pores over a lengthy report in her hands.

“Inquisitor, how may we help you?” Leliana asks when she looks up, raising one graceful eyebrow as she looks Evelyn over. The shrewd look in her eyes tells Evelyn that she already knows why she’s there, and she heaves a sigh.

“We need to discuss the arrangement with Lord Hugh,” Evelyn tells them.

“I thought we might,” Josephine nods and gestures for Evelyn to take a seat on the plush loveseat against the wall.

Evelyn sighs again as she sits, picking absently at one of her loose sleeves. She isn’t quite certain how to bring up her concerns, not wanting to give too much away, wanting to phrase it in terms of the Inquisition and not her personal desires. Before she has a chance to speak, though, her Spymaster shifts on the bed and hums as she contemplates her.

“Something heavy on your mind, Evelyn?” Leliana asks.

It’s unusual for the Orlesian to call her by her given name and not her title, and it makes Evelyn look up, searching for any sort of comfort in the ocean eyes of her Spymaster. She’s vaguely surprised when she finds a great deal of it in the woman’s gaze.

“I - no doubt you heard what happened?” Evelyn asks, and at Josephine’s resigned sigh and Leliana’s nod she continues. “Lord Hugh was - more than a little eager to finalize things, it seems. And the Commander - I’d say that he misunderstood, but he didn’t. His actions possibly saved the Inquisition from further scandal, considering what I - what I might have done -”

“Still, though, Bann Erroll is on the war path,” Josephine interrupts with another sigh.

“She raises a fair point, Josie,” Leliana says with a shrug. “After all, the Herald of Andraste is no helpless young maiden.”

“But the Commander of the Inquisition assaulting the son of a Fereldan Bann, and not only that but the betrothed of the Inquisitor -” Josephine begins, exasperation evident in her tone.

“So it’s - it’s final then?” Evelyn asks, her voice coming out as a squeak. “He - we are to be -”

Josephine rubs her brow, sinking onto the end of the bed. “I have managed to convince Bann Erroll to hold off judgment, but -”

“No, I mean - I thought that was to be an initial meeting, I didn’t think - it’s already been decided?” Evelyn feels her heart sink, and she lowers her eyes to where her hands are resting in her lap. That’s it, then - she’ll be married off to a noble she can’t stand, separated from the only man she’s ever cared for by duty.

“Well, yes and no,” Josephine answers slowly, and Evelyn’s head snaps up, her brows furrowed curiously.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“We have _agreed_ to it - but that doesn’t mean it will _happen_ ,” Josephine muses. “You see, the terms of the deal - which I didn’t have time to explain yesterday morning, considering the, ah, Commander’s - presence -”

“You mean his attire,” Leliana teases shrewdly, and the Ambassador blushes deep pink. Leliana bursts into giggles as she watches Josephine clear her throat.

“What I’m trying to say is - we have agreed to an arrangement, once things have - settled down,” Josephine continues, as if the Spymaster isn’t still giggling behind her. Pointedly ignoring the other woman, Josephine shifts slightly to look Evelyn directly in the eyes. “For the time being, you are betrothed to Lord Hugh, if the Bann agrees to lend his support and voice to the Inquisition’s cause. But - well, if something better were to come along…”

Evelyn’s mouth drops open. “You’re not - you can’t seriously tell me that we would make this arrangement and intend to back out later?”

“It’s all politics,” Josephine shrugs. “At present, agreeing to these terms helps smooth over relations with Ferelden, which is sorely needed after the previous events here at Redcliffe. But in the future, once the Inquisition has gained more influence - there may be something else that Bann Erroll wants more than a personal alliance with the Trevelyans.”

Evelyn looks between her two advisors, her brows furrowed as she thinks. “And what if the Bann doesn’t want anything but the Herald of Andraste joining his family? Am I to marry the - the - whiny son of a Fereldan lord?”

Her voice finally cracks and she leans forward, resting her forehead against her palms. Is that to be her fate? Save Thedas and end up some nobleman’s wife, doomed to boring balls and incessant gossiping, having no say in her choices?

“Evelyn?” Leliana says, and Evelyn jumps when she realizes the voice is closer than before. She looks to her side and sees her Spymaster sitting beside her, a concerned frown on her face. “Everything will work out, just have a little faith. Banns are easily swayed, easily won over with promises of favors. We make this promise now, and Ferelden agrees to things more easily later. And if suddenly Bann Erroll finds himself with a son in a prominent position in the Chantry instead of a Trevelyan in the family, why - all the better for him.”

Evelyn purses her lips as she considers her advisor, and then she slowly nods. “All right, Leliana, Josephine,” she looks up at her Ambassador. “Do we need to meet with the Bann? I imagine he’s less than pleased, after - well…”

“We have already arranged a meeting for this evening,” Josephine informs her. “Until then, you may relax.”

“If the Commander will let you,” Leliana muses, a smirk tugging up the corner of her mouth, her eyes sparkling with humor.

Tugging her bottom lip between her teeth Evelyn giggles, feeling slightly relieved. But there’s still the matter of Cullen’s unusual mood, and she exhales deeply as she stands. “I’ll see you this evening, then,” she tells her advisors. “Thank you for your counsel and - clearing a few things up.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine nods, and Evelyn bids them farewell as she hurries out the door.

Walking briskly down the hall, she stops at another wooden door and knocks. Two male voices grumble at her insistent rapping, and after a few moments the door swings open.

“How are you up this early, Sparkles?” Varric greets her gruffly as he rubs his eyes. “I thought for sure Curly would keep you a bit longer -”

“Shut up, Varric,” she mutters as she sidles past him into the room.

“What’s wrong, little bird?” Dorian greets her from where he’s lounging on the bed, wearing silk sleep trousers, his hair artfully tousled and his moustache still somehow perfectly maintained.

“I - I need advice,” she sighs, and she walks over to join her friend on the bed, throwing herself onto it and reaching for his hand. Interlacing her fingers with his like she always does, she thinks for a moment and then glances up. “I think the Commander is angry with me.”

“What makes you think that?” Dorian chuckles, and he reaches with his other hand to brush the hair off her neck. “These marks on your neck say otherwise, I’d wager.”

“Stop it, Dorian,” she chides him, swatting his hand away. “I’m being serious. I need help, I’m - I’m out of my depths.”

“Men are easy, Sparkles,” Varric tells her as he wanders to the settee against the wall and takes a seat on it. There are blankets and a pillow on it, as if he slept there. “You’ve already got him in your bed - if you think he’s angry with you, just suggest you both take a, uh, ‘horizontal break.’ He’ll forget any reason to be angry in a heartbeat.”

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” she frowns. “He - he punched Lord Hugh.”

“Who’s Lord Hugh?” Dorian asks, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb as he peers down at her, bemused.

“My betrothed,” she answers.

“Ah,” Dorian and Varric both hum, and they share a significant look.

“What?” Evelyn asks, rolling her head on the bed to look at both of them in turn.

“I think perhaps our golden Commander doesn’t want to share,” Dorian muses, thoughtfully tapping his chin with his fingers.

“I think Sparkler is onto something, Sparkles,” Varric adds with a chuckle. He always loves emphasizing the nicknames he’s bestowed on them, drawing attention to their close friendship and the way their magic mirrors one another’s so well.

“You think - you think Cullen is, what - jealous?” Evelyn lets out a hollow laugh. “Surely not, he - he just - I mean, it’s just about -”

“What, just about sex?” Dorian raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Oh little bird, surely you’re not that naïve.”

“What else should I think?” Evelyn shrugs, staring up dismally at the canopy above her. “He - he was gone this morning, he didn’t hold me last night as we slept, instead he snapped at me after we - well, after we - I just - I need to accept that this is only about - about sex. That’s it.”

“Are you certain?” Dorian says slowly.

“Yeah, Sparkles, maybe you should listen to your other half,” Varric suggests. He shifts on the settee, trying to get comfortable before he speaks again. “It’s obvious this isn’t just about what’s happening between the sheets. Although whether or not Curly realizes it is another matter.”

But Evelyn continues to shake her head, studying the canopy above her. She can’t allow herself to think that maybe he cares, not allowing that bit of hope to take root within her. “No, he couldn’t possibly think like that about me,” she sighs. “Next to him I’m just a - a silly young maiden.”

“You’re the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, an accomplished mage, and a noble,” Dorian points out. “How in Thedas could you possibly not have enough to offer him?”

“Sparkles, he’s positively smitten, everyone can tell,” Varric agrees.

She frowns as she thinks it over, wondering if maybe they’re right. “I mean, he - he does call me ‘love,’ sometimes, but - the way he says it, it’s like something you’d say to a tavern wench when you’re trying for a tumble,” she sighs.

When she glances up at Dorian she sees him sharing another silent exchange with Varric, looking as if he’s trying to hold back laughter.

“Little bird, if a man is calling you ‘love’ while in bed -”

“Not just in bed -”

“Even better,” Dorian chuckles. “So why do you doubt he could care so much?”

“He stormed out, he wasn’t there this morning, I just - I don’t know what to make of him,” she murmurs. “Something’s wrong, but I don’t know what.”

“It will all work out, little bird,” Dorian coos, lifting the hand he’s holding to his lips and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “You’ll see. Maybe you just need to speak with him.”

“If I could find him.”

“Try the training yard, he’s probably taking out his frustration on poor Captain Rylen again,” Varric suggests with a laugh. “He tried to give him quite a beating yesterday - I think maybe he was frustrated about the, ah, arrangement.”

“He’s not the only one,” Evelyn grumbles. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s standard for these sorts of negotiations,” Dorian shrugs. “The only question is how long you’ll have to pretend. Leave it to your Ambassador, she’ll find something to appease the Fereldans soon enough.”

“I hope you’re right, Lord Hugh is - not someone I want to spend a lot of time with,” she mutters.

“We leave tomorrow, so you shouldn’t have to,” Dorian assures her. “Come along, little bird, go find your Commander -”

“No, I - I should let him have some time,” she sighs. “Can I stay here?”

Dorian purses his lips and Varric chuckles. “That might interrupt Sparkler’s plans, I think -” the dwarf begins.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dorian denies quickly.

“What plans?” Evelyn frowns up at him.

“Oh, having me around has put a kink in his social life, and not in the way he’d like,” Varric explains, letting out a few guffaws at the scowl Dorian gives him.

“It’s nothing, Evelyn, just - someone had requested a - favor,” he tells her.

“Is that what the Qunari called it?” Varric teases.

“The - does he mean Bull?” Evelyn raises an eyebrow at her friend, but he pointedly ignores her.

She frowns when he doesn’t answer, letting her gaze roam about, finally taking in the layout of the room.

“Wait - you have a sitting area,” she says slowly. “Does everyone have a sofa? How did - our room - how is it we ended up in the only room without a sofa?”

“You what?” Dorian laughs, and when he and Varric lock eyes once more they both laugh even harder. “Little bird are you - are you telling me we actually have a nicer room than you?”

“I just - I thought we would have a sofa as well, but we don’t - and Cullen tried to insist on sleeping on the floor,” she trails off, trying to think. Her brain feels like mush, though, and she can’t quite work through all the thoughts she’s being bombarded by.

As much as she wants to seek him out, she should wait until later, once she’s figured out what she thinks and once he’s had time to calm down.

 

* * *

 

The collar and sash are stifling, and she tugs at them gently, taking another deep breath. She smooths her braid down over her neck one last time before she finally steps forward and pushes the doors open.

The room isn’t as busy as it has been the last few days, since this meeting is a private matter. Lord Teagan is seated at one end of the table, his elbow propped on his chair so that he can rest his head on his fist. He looks bored, almost, or irritated - and the reason why doesn't take long to discover. Lord Hugh is sitting beside him, chattering away, and Evelyn resists the urge to laugh. Having been on the receiving end of the man’s conversation, she isn’t envious of Teagan’s current position.

Leliana and Josephine are standing together, speaking softly as they reference a report, and they glance up and give Evelyn encouraging smiles when they see her. She moves to join them, looking around to see who else is present. Bann Erroll is walking along the sideboard, loading a small plate with plenty of morsels that are set out for the day’s meetings.

But Cullen is nowhere in sight, and she frowns.

“Is the Commander joining us?” she whispers to her advisors, and Josephine gives a small nod.

“Hopefully he is not overlong,” her Ambassador mutters.

“He’ll be here,” Leliana assures the other woman, and gives Evelyn a small wink.

Evelyn sighs and looks around the room once more, but when she sees Lord Hugh trying to catch her eye she grimaces and turns her back to him. “Maker, I hope this is over with quickly,” she breathes.

“Is everyone present?” Teagan’s voice rings out, drowning out the prattle of the young lord sitting beside him.

“Just a few more moments, my lord -” Josephine begins, but the doors suddenly slam open and Cullen strides into the room, glowering as he takes in the faces that all turn to stare at him.

Evelyn’s heart trips in its pace as she watches him make his way to stand beside the other advisors, but she frowns when she notices that he’s avoiding her gaze. He’s still scowling, and all of her attempts to steady herself and think everything through before seeing him suddenly slip away, her mind going blank.

He still looks like he’s in the same mood as the night before, and she wishes there was something she could say to try to make it better, or come to understand it.

“Oh good, finally the barbarian has joined us,” Hugh comments lazily, sneering at the sight of Cullen standing near Evelyn. “I suppose now we can start, after so long spent waiting on the common rabble to grace us with its presence.”

Cullen stiffens and Evelyn’s eyes widen as she looks to her Ambassador, hoping the Antivan can smooth it over.

Josephine shifts on her feet and opens her mouth, but before she can speak Teagan shoots the young man a glare. “Please, Hugh, keep a civil tongue,” he scolds. “After all, the Inquisition are not only our guests but our allies. Yes?”

Hugh pouts, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “I suppose - that is, if the Inquisitor agrees -”

“That is what we are here to discuss,” Josephine interrupts, stepping gracefully around the chairs and taking her seat beside Lord Teagan. “If we are all ready?”

Leliana gently nudges Evelyn’s elbow with her hand, encouraging her to follow and take her seat. With a glance over her shoulder at Cullen, she follows her advisors and sits at the table beside them. After a moment’s pause in which he seems to be gathering himself, Cullen stalks forward and pulls out the chair on the other side of Evelyn. As he sits he scoots his chair closer until his arm is easily brushing hers with his proximity.

She wants to glance at him, wishing that she could say something, but instead she sets her chin and raises her head gracefully as she watches Josephine clear her throat and straighten her reports.

Bann Erroll circles around the table, balancing the plate he’s piled high as he takes his seat beside his son. “So - I hear that the Commander interfered where he wasn’t wanted,” he muses. “And violently, I might add. Makes me wonder if I want to ally myself with the Inquisition after all.”

“Please, my lord - it was all a misunderstanding -” Josephine begins.

But Cullen bristles beside Evelyn and sits forward, resting an arm on the table as he glares. “It was no misunderstanding,” he interrupts. “I caught your wet-behind-the-ears whelp trying to force himself on Ev - on the Inquisitor. I interceded, as was right -”

His tone is rising, and Josephine tries to shoot him a warning look at the same time several voices begin to talk over one another. Hugh sits forward as well, his full lips pouting as he protests and denies, and Erroll scoffs and complains while Teagan begs for silence.

Cullen raises his voice, again trying to make his point about what he had seen, but Evelyn reaches under the table and rests her hand on his thigh, squeezing him gently through the leather of his breeches. He huffs out a breath and finally shoots her a quizzical frown, and without meeting his gaze she gives a minute shake of her head.

 _Not now, darling,_ she means.

The other voices calm after a moment, and Josephine clears her throat before she continues. “The Commander is sworn to protect the Inquisitor, and what he assumed he saw was that she was in danger,” the Ambassador begins again. “He acted accordingly to protect the Herald of Andraste. But he knows that it was a mistake, that the events in the library were not, in fact, unwanted by Lady Trevelyan.”

The lie sounds bitter to Evelyn, and she notices Cullen shift, his muscles tensing beneath her hand, his whole body stilling as he absorbs the Ambassador’s declaration. When she chances a glance at his face she sees a deep scowl blackening his features until he looks dangerous, his cheek muscles flinching as he glares at the Banns across the table from him. She squeezes his thigh again, trying to silently communicate and calm him down.

Maybe she should have sought him out earlier that day after all.

“Be that as it may, my son was still assaulted by this common Templar, during a meeting which _you_ arranged, Madame Ambassador,” Erroll points out, gesturing with the leg of meat he’s holding in his hand.

“And we offer our sincerest apologies for that grave misunderstanding of the situation,” Josephine bows her head as she says it. “The Commander was brash, and acted recklessly, without thought - it will not happen again, we will make certain of it. He knows he was in the wrong, and would like to take this moment to apologize for his impulsive and irresponsible actions now.”

The heads around the table all swivel to stare at Cullen, all except Evelyn, who finds herself unable to look at him. If she does, will she cave and tell them he wasn’t wrong, that she was grateful he had shown up when he did?

_An alliance. Duty. For the time being._

She recalls her discussion with Josephine and Leliana that morning, and instead of giving the support she wants to Cullen, she bites her tongue and stares at the table in front of her.

A few moments pass in silence, and she finally raises a tentative gaze to his face. His cheek muscles are clenching as he stares at where his fist is resting on the table. Everyone else seems to be waiting with bated breath, and Evelyn wishes there was some way for her to easily convey her thoughts to him.

Before she can try to reassure him at all he pushes his chair back and stands, marching briskly across the room, throwing the door open and letting it slam behind him.

Deafening silence is left in his wake, and then Lord Hugh scoffs. “I knew the uncouth boor wouldn’t have it in him -”

Evelyn pushes her chair back as well, still staring at where Cullen had disappeared into the hallway. Without a look back at anyone she hurries across the room, and she can hear Josephine making excuses for her departure, assuring the Banns that the Inquisitor will be able to talk some sense into the Commander.

The halls are almost deserted, but she has a feeling she knows exactly where he went, and she races through the winding corridors until she reaches the door of their chamber. As soon as she opens it she sees that she was right.

Cullen throws his boot against the wall before he reaches to the sash across his chest and begins to pull at it to get it off. When he hears the door open he raises his gaze and glowers at her, his brows furrowed sharply, his jaw set in his anger.

“Cullen -” she begins.

“Come to force me to apologize to that - that sniveling _boy_ ?” he snaps, pulling the sash over his head. “I did nothing wrong, Inquisitor, and you and I _both_ know it. I will not be made to offer false apologies -”

“I didn’t know she was going to ask you to do that,” Evelyn interrupts, taking a few steps forward as she stares at him imploringly. “Please, we’re simply trying to obtain allies -”

“Like this?” he tugs at the buttons of his uniform jacket, angrily undoing them as he continues to glare at her. “Caving to their every whim, offering you up to - to - and for what? A few hundred men, a self-important Bann who wants to get ahead of his station by claiming the Herald for his family?”

“Cullen, what happened at Redcliffe before, I - we need Ferelden on our side, otherwise -”

“Yes, and what did happen before at Redcliffe, Inquisitor? We wouldn’t be in this mess if you had listened to me and sought out the Templars -” he half-shouts, finally yanking off his jacket and throwing it at his trunk against the wall.

“That’s not fair, Cullen,” she takes another step forward, frowning and raising her own voice. “You all left the decision to me and I made it - never mind the fact that I didn’t ask for any of this - I’m - I’m doing the best I can -” her voice cracks and she pulls her trembling bottom lip between her teeth.

For a moment he stares at her, and then he shakes his head and looks away, dragging his hand down his chin as he thinks. “Maker’s breath, Evelyn, I just - how could you agree to this? It is ridiculous, the Inquisition gains very little from it -”

“But I am the Inquisitor, and I - I have to do what I must, no matter - no matter the price,” she states, trying to keep her voice steady. “That’s what it meant when you all agreed to bestow the title on me, when you asked me to lead you.”

His gaze snaps back to hers, and she can’t read the look in his golden eyes, frowning as she watches him contemplate her. “And you think it comes to this? You are willing to agree to this sort of deal for minimal support now? This - this will be the rest of your life, Evelyn.”

“It’s one life for many,” she murmurs, avoiding his gaze. “But if this is what it takes -”

“And what about what makes you happy?” he interrupts, and he begins to take a few steps, stalking forward as his tone lowers dangerously. “Do you really think you could stand that fool every day for the rest of your life?”

She doesn’t answer, not wanting to think about it, not wanting to consider what may happen if Bann Erroll refuses Josephine’s other offers down the line. It seems Cullen is thinking the same, mapping out all the possibilities for the Ambassador’s plan, forcing her to consider the possibility that it won’t go as expected. He’s speaking in absolutes, but she knows he has to be focusing in his anger on the worst case scenario of what Josephine is orchestrating for the Inquisition.

He stops in front of her, still scowling down at her. “Do you really think you could take that whelp to bed?” he whispers, his tone harsh. “Do you think he would treat you well? That he could satisfy you?”

She raises her head and peers up at him, frowning. “I - Cullen, I -” but she doesn’t know how to say what she wants to. Dorian and Varric had speculated that he had acted out of jealousy, and the way he’s looking down at her has her curious.

“He may call me barbaric, but I promise you, he doesn’t know how to make you scream his name,” he growls, and then his hands are on her, one twisting in her hair, the other on her waist pulling her close as his mouth crashes against hers.

She lifts her arms and wraps them around his neck, one hand sliding to his cheek and holding him to her as she tries to answer the ferocity with which he’s kissing her. It’s pure hunger, and she’s left panting as he slants his lips across hers and slides his tongue within her mouth.

They sway slightly, and he releases her hair so that he can work instead on the buttons of her uniform, and she grasps the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head. Nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing and clothing being thrown aside reaches her ears, her senses full of only him. When they’ve stripped themselves of their clothes he lifts her and she wraps her legs around his waist, clinging to his shoulders as he carries her to the bed.

He lays her back on the pillows, still kissing her greedily as he takes his place between her legs. His hands and mouth are everywhere, leaving her breathless under his impatient attention. Her legs are trembling, her whole body feeling as if it’s on fire as he searches her out and thrusts himself within her. She breaks from their kiss and cries out, throwing her head back on the pillows as she clenches her eyes shut.

Without a word he begins moving, rolling his hips against hers before he begins to jerk them harder and faster into her. Each movement within her makes her sob, whimpers and moans escalating and tangling with the sound of the headboard as it slams against the wall. Where before he had praised her, had whispered in her ear, now he simply moans and pants, his face contorted with intensity as he moves above her.

He grabs her hands and pins them to the pillows, interlocking his fingers with hers as he kisses her deeply. Pleasure builds in the pit of her stomach and she braces her feet beside his knees, trying to roll her hips against his as she feels herself pushing closer to the edge. When he notices he slips a hand down, stroking between her folds, already so familiar with her body that it takes hardly any time at all before she’s crying out.

Her world shatters, falling apart as his name slips from her lips like a scream, her back arching and her toes curling as her whole body shakes. He almost shouts her name a moment later, going deep as she feels his spend fill her, and he rolls his hips in a few languid thrusts as the aftershocks ripple through them both.

Burying his face against her neck, they’re silent, simply trying to catch their breath. She thinks about what he said before he took her, about how angry he had been, and tears spring to her eyes.

She didn’t ask for any of this, she never wanted to lead a holy Inquisition or be bartered off in an alliance as she attempts to save all of Thedas. If she had had her way, she would have stayed in Ostwick at the Circle, reading her books and sketching in the gardens, trying to learn to best the First Enchanter at chess.

Instead she has been thrust into the center of chaos, somehow the only one who could fix it all.

She’s tired, overwhelmed, and now the one person whose support she truly craves is angry with her, frustrated with the methods she’s using to achieve their mutual goals.

It’s too much.

Warm tears leak from the corners of her eyes and stream down her cheeks, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, biting it until she knows she’s leaving indentations.

“Evelyn?” he raises his head and peers down at her, but when he sees that she’s crying his brows furrow sharply. “I - did I hurt you? You - you wanted to -”

“It’s not that, Cullen,” she sighs, her voice heavy with her tears. “I’m - I’m so tired, I’m overwhelmed, and I - all I need is your support, please. I can’t get through this without you.”

“I - I am supporting you,” he mutters, and he withdraws himself from her and sits up. “That is, I have supported you, even when you recruited the mages. But I - I have tried to protect you and still you choose this farce -”

“It’s necessary, it’s - I keep having to make these decisions, keep having to make these sacrifices,” she cries, sitting up as well as she wipes at her cheeks.

“At the expense of everything else?” he asks, his voice rising. “You would choose that popinjay over the Commander of your forces, just to have a bit more sway with Ferelden?”

“It’s - it’s not about him, specifically, or even about you,” she protests, but his features blacken with his renewed rage.

“I suppose I simply cannot understand it all, considering my low birth,” he almost sneers. “Perhaps I was wrong to think you were any different from them. You and Lord Hugh will be an excellent match, if this is the sort of sacrifice you are willing to make.”

“How dare you,” she says, her insides turning icy as disbelief courses through her. “I can’t believe you’d - I -” she pushes herself off the bed and hurries to grab her linen shirt and leather breeches, pulling them on quickly.

“You cannot believe I would what - speak so plainly? Apologies, my lady, I should remember to hold my tongue next time,” he shouts.

“My lady?” she repeats, incredulous. He’s never called her that before, not even when they first met, except maybe once when he tripped over introductions.

“Yes, apologies for forgetting my station,” he grits out. “I hope I haven’t done too much damage, soiling you with my commoner’s hands. Sorry I despoiled your purity, I hope Lord Hugh does not care overmuch that he’s getting the seconds of a simple farmer’s son.”

“You bastard,” she cries, tears running down her cheeks. “You - you absolute bastard -”

But no other words come to her, so stunned by his declarations, by the sneer in his tone that she turns and flees, tearing the door open and running out into the hall. Her vision is blurred but she knows the way, and she hurries away from their chamber down the corridor. As she pounds on the wooden door she chews her lip, her mind racing.

So much anger, all over an agreed upon plan. Her advisors had made the arrangement, the alliance, had brought it to her - why is he so angry about it still?

Her musings are interrupted when the door opens, and Dorian’s lazy smile immediately gives way to a bemused frown as his gaze roams over her tear-streaked face.

“C-can I come in?” she asks, her voice choked with sobs.

“Oh little bird,” Dorian coos, and he pulls her into his arms and strokes her hair with a hand. “Yes, come in - and tell me all about it.”


	12. 'Cause it's Always Raining in My Head, Forget All the Things I Should Have Said

The sounds of voices and activity in the hall dig into his aching head. Groaning, he rolls over and reaches for her side of the bed, but the sheets are cool and empty.

“Evelyn?” he croaks, opening one eye and wincing as the morning light pooling against the far wall through the window drills into his brain. His vision swims as he tries to focus. Tries to _think_.

He sits up, mouth full of cotton and world tilting crazily. His slowly resolving eyesight falls on the white material of her nightshift hanging on the poster nearest her side of the bed. Muddled though his mind may be, he is able to piece together the puzzle: Evelyn did not sleep in their room last night. But why? And where had she gone?

He groans and rubs his forehead. What in the Void happened? He remembers the meeting and that pompous arse Hugh and then — oh, shit!

_“Sorry I despoiled your purity, I hope Lord Hugh does not care overmuch that he’s getting the seconds of a simple farmer’s son.”_

Had he really said that to her? Hot shame flushes his face. Maker’s breath, but he’d been so angry. They’d wanted him to apologize. For rescuing Evelyn from that greedy little lordling. And she’d gone along with it. It had made his blood boil.

_“I hope I haven’t done too much damage, soiling you with my commoner’s hands.”_

He sighs and looks down at his hands, large and rough with callouses from years of fighting with a sword and shield, and even before that, from toiling on his father’s farm.

Ah, but she had loved his hands on her, hadn’t she? The way he’d taken her, so quick and rough, and yet, she remained so responsive to his touch. Almost as if she was made for him. And yet, she is not here now. She ran out after he’d flayed her with those words.

Grunting, he gets out of bed and sways on his feet as his headache hammers behind his left eye. Perhaps it is for the best. This — whatever it is between them — can’t last.

He stumbles into the bathing chamber and frowns at the haggard man looking back at him in the mirror. Even if he wants it to continue, what can he offer her?  Raising a hand, he scrubs it over his jaw, his stubble rasping against his fingers. He needs a shave, but sod it, what's the use when he'll simply be on the road all day? After all, he'll likely only make a mess of things the way that his hands are shaking at the moment.

Grabbing his jar of pomade, he scoops out a generous dollop into one palm and starts working it into his curls, smoothing his short blond hair down.  What had he even been thinking lying with her? She is the Inquisitor and a noble, to the Void for all that she is a mage.

Now, look at the mess he’s made. What he said to her last night is unforgivable. Should she demand his resignation as Commander, he would step down without argument.  As he reaches for his things to stuff them back into his satchel, his hand brushes the bristles of her hairbrush, and he pauses to finger it, his rough fingers tracing the inlaid pearl of the handle.

Why does her hairbrush look so right next to his razor? He remembers taking her hand and thinking how well it fits into his, how her very presence calms him, smooths over his rough edges and brings him some small measure of peace.

Slipping out of the bathing chamber, he exchanges his satchel for a shirt and a pair of leathers from his trunk and begins to dress. Putting the Inquisitor and whatever they had been doing the past few days from his mind, he suits up in his armor. He has a job to do.

 

* * *

 

Cullen winces as he steps outside of the relative gloom of the castle hall and into the bright sunlight of the courtyard. He looks around at the throng of horses, people,  carriages, and wagons crowding the large stone-paved yard. Ostlers quickly move about, floating between the destriers and palfreys, fastening their reins and harnesses. Other servants carry out boxes and trunks, loading them onto the waiting wagons.

Hurrying down the stairs, he nods at a group of his men who are helping with the loading. He’d made sure that the Inquisitor’s things were packed and that their trunks were removed from their room. He grimaces  Their room. Maker’s breath, he should have insisted on staying in the barracks with the other soldiers.

He’s about to head over to the Quartermaster to inquire about their state of readiness when he notices _her._ She stands surrounded by her Inner Circle, her black hair pulled back into a neat braid and wearing her traveling armor. Her face is a little paler than normal, but other than that, she appears to have fared no worse for their row last night.

The skin along his spine prickles as his passing nod goes unacknowledged by the group. The Inquisitor refuses to look at him, and Dorian’s gray glare is positively glacial. It cuts across him like shards of glass before the other mage turns to whisper something to Evelyn.

Cullen raises an eyebrow and continues past them to the Quartermaster. He has no time for this — there are at least a thousand matters he must attend to, and that’s all before they set off on their journey.

“Commander,” says the Quartermaster, “I have the inventory lists ready for you.”

“Yes, thank you.” He nods and accepts the book from the man. He begins to thumb through it, his eyes running over the lists neatly inscribed inside. He blinks when the letters and numbers start blurring together, resisting the urge to rub his eyes.

Maker, will this bloody headache ever leave him? He looks up briefly to find her eyes on him, but when he meets her stare, she quickly looks away, her delicate jaw tightening.  For a brief moment, he thinks he can detect — concern? _Something_ in her gaze.

He remembers her sweet voice on their first night here when she’d insisted on him sharing the bed with her. “You need to sleep, too, Commander,” she’d said. And Maker, she’d seemed genuinely concerned for him. It had confused him, to be honest. It still confuses him — none but his family have ever cared for his comfort or well-being.  The Order had cared only that he was not bleeding to death, nothing more.

“Commander? Is there something amiss?” The Quartermaster’s voice cuts through the fog of his thoughts, and he shifts his eyes back to the inventory lists.

“Oh — I — no, no, everything seems to be in order,” he hands the book back to the smaller man. “Carry on.”

“Yes, Commander!”

He nods jerkily and moves on to his next task.  He spies Leliana conferring with her agents and makes his way over to her. “I trust you are ready to depart,  Sister?”

She flicks a chilly glance at him through narrowed ocean eyes before turning back to her scouts.

“Yes.”

Maker’s breath, not her too.  Cullen bites back a groan and mutters “Good.”

He nods at her curtly then stalks back to take the reins of his black destrier, Vedr,  from the ostler holding them. As he swings his bulk up into the saddle, Vedr shifts and dances in place on his hooves, obviously eager to get going after so many days spent cooped up in the stables.  

Digging his heels into the horse’s sides, he turns the great beast in a tight circle and lifts his arm up high. “Inquisition! Ready yourselves! We leave in twenty!” he bellows.

“Ser!” come the cries of his men, raising their hands to their chests in a salute.  He grunts in satisfaction. At least some of his people still know how to show proper respect.  Cullen looks on with sharp eyes and a furrowed brow as the Inquisition soldiers start mounting their steeds and others board their carriages and wagons. He’ll be quite happy to quit this place and never return.

“Wait!” calls a male voice from the top of the steps leading into the keep. Cullen turns his head, and his scowl deepens.  Lord Hugh is mincing his way down the stairs, his ridiculous clothing impairing his movements. Cullen rolls his eyes. What in Thedas could he want now?

“My lord?” Evelyn turns away from Dorian’s carriage to wait for Hugh to come to her. And, Maker’s breath, she’s smiling at the blighter! Cullen’s hands tighten on the reins, drawing a disgruntled huff from Vedr.

“My lady Inquisitor, “ Lord Hugh executes a perfect bow before her, taking her small hand in his long, pale, elegant- fingered one. “I wish you a safe journey,” he raises her hand to his lips and brushes them across the back of it, “until we meet again.”

“T-thank you, my lord,” returns Evelyn softly, stepping back as he releases her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Oh, for the love of — I am going to be sick,” Cullen grumbles to himself. “All right!” he shouts, “Inquisition! We leave now!” He trots around the yard, circling the stragglers and encouraging them to hurry, avoiding the Inquisitor’s eyes as she boards her carriage.

An hour into their journey finds him spurring Vedr up and down the line of the caravanning Inquisition, his trained gaze watching for signs of any trouble. Tension knots his shoulders like it always does when he’s overseeing a traveling force. That the entire command structure of the Inquisition is present is more than enough to make him feel a little queasy.

Why had he not thought to split their force in two? Maker, his head just isn’t working right lately. Bloody muddled thinking — from the withdrawals or _her_? He can’t tell the difference anymore.

Pulling his horse up beside Rylen, he nods at his friend. “Any problems to report?”

Rylen  glances at him. “Nothing to report, Commander.”

Cullen raises an eyebrow at his cool greeting and tosses his Captain a sideways look. “And  am I to assume you have a problem with me, now, too?”

Rylen snorts. “You deserve it, you blinkered arse.”

“And what,” the Commander sighs, “do you know of it?”

“Eh, mate, I don’t want to be telling you your business, but why in the Voids did you not just tell the lass how you feel about her?”

Cullen frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose. He does not need this right now when he has the entire War Council to transport back to Skyhold safely. He glares at the other man.

“Tell her how I feel, you say. That would be easy except I do not even know what I feel for her. We — “ he lowers his voice “— are — um, compatible, and I — Maker’s breath, I care about her, but beyond that, I cannot say.”

The chestnut-haired man shoots him a withering look and Cullen grimaces.“Well, then you had best be figuring that out, mate, because you’re gonna lose her if you don’t.”

He looks down at his hands holding the reins. “I think I may have already lost her.”

“Nah.” Rylen reaches out and claps him on the shoulder. “Just don’t be so stupid next time, eh?”

The Commander rolls his eyes and sighs. “Yes, yes, I know, I am a bloody fool. Maker save me from meddlesome, _bloody romantic,_ Captains,” he grumbles, the heat removed from his words by the crooked grin twisting his lips.

 

* * *

 

Cullen dismounts from Vedr, squelching down the groan in his throat as his muscles protest. Maker, what a day. And it’s not yet over for him; he still has countless tasks to see to before he can seek his bedroll.

Handing the reins to a waiting soldier who takes them with a sharp salute, he quickly rounds up his Captains and Lieutenants to establish the camp’s perimeter and assign guard rotations. Then, there is the task of sending a hunting party out to supplement their travel rations and build campfires for cooking and warmth.

All of this takes more than an hour, so dusk is falling by the time Cullen is able to limp through the main camp to make sure the Inquisitor, her Inner Circle, and his fellow advisors fared well during today’s journey.  

“Hey!” Cullen turns toward the shouted greeting to find the Iron Bull looking at him, his single eye glinting in the gloom. He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Was there something you needed?”

“Oh,” Bull grins at him, but there is no warmth in it. It sets Cullen on edge. “Nothing too important, _Commander,”_ the blond narrows his eyes at the way the Qunari emphasizes his title. “The Boss, she looks like she’s been crying a lot. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Maker’s breath, this day just gets better and better. “No, Bull” he grits out, “I am certain I would not know anything about that.”

“Oh, good,” the huge Qunari leans in close, and it’s all Cullen can do to hold his ground. He’s a big man, but next to Bull, he’s positively _dainty_. “Because anyone hurts the Boss, they answer to me. Nice talking to ya, Commander.”

Bull punctuates the end of his sentence with a hearty slap across Cullen’s back and shoulders that feels more like getting slammed by a pile of boulders than a jocular clap between comrades. It knocks the wind out of him, and he has to take a moment to recover it before moving on.

Cullen rolls his shoulders as he walks away, grimacing as bones and muscles creak as they settle back into place. He’s certain to have bruises on his back come morning. He knows he bollocksed everything up, but Maker, did he deserve to be beaten for it?

“Commander, might I have a word?”

Cullen huffs but stops to let the Tevinter catch up with him. Maker, what now?

“What is it, Dorian?” he sighs and rubs his neck, rolling it from side to side while he waits for the Mage to make his point.

“Fasta vass, you prat,” Dorian shoves one manicured and beringed finger at Cullen’s chest. “What were you thinking? She doesn’t deserve you snarling at her like a lion with a sore paw!”

That’s it. He’s had it with all this nonsense. He’s been ignored, glared at, bruised, and now called out for what he thought was a personal matter between him and Evelyn.  Ignoring the throbbing pain in his back, he straightens to his full height and glares down at the smaller man.

“Careful, Mage,” he growls, “you do not understand anything.”

“Oh, please! “ Dorian sneers, waving a hand in his face. “Don’t you go all Templar on me, _Commander_. Just make it right, idiot. Talk to her!”

Before Cullen can think of a suitably scathing response, the black-haired mage turns on his heel and saunters away, his nose up in the air, leaving the other man to scowl at the ground.

He drags his hand across his jaw. Is there anyone in this sodding Inquisition that doesn’t know he and Evelyn’s business? He’s beginning to doubt it. Maker, it’s all making his head hurt worse. What did he come this way to do? Oh, yes, he wants to check on the Inner Circle and War Council — he has the feeling that perhaps he should have skipped it and retired to the Command tent to plan their route for the morning.

Maker knows it would have saved him a bruising.

Ah, well, he has to speak with Leliana and Josephine anyway. Stiffly, he makes his way to their fire and settles himself across from the two women who have their heads together above an Inquisition report.

“Ladies,” he begins, “I need to speak with you about —“ he stops when he notices that neither woman has made the slightest move to acknowledge his presence. He heaves an exasperated sigh. “Oh, I see how it is. Bloody wonderful. Well, if you decide to speak with me, I’ll be in the Command tent.”

Grunting, he gets to his feet.  Sod it, if they want to ignore him, fine. It’ll finally give him some peace so he can get some work done — finally get ahead on his list of duties.

He clenches his jaw as their titters follow him across the camp. All he wants now is a mug of ale and the quiet of the Command tent. But the Maker apparently has other plans for him because on the way there, he comes across the Inquisitor and Varric, of all people,  sitting close together beside a roaring fire. The dwarf appears to be weaving one of his outrageous tales, but it’s Evelyn’s face that transfixes him.

She’s been crying — just as Bull said she’s been. Her lashes are spiky with tears, her beautiful eyes rimmed with red, and her usually pristine complexion is splotchy. She looks so dejected —  it grips something in his chest, and for a moment he can’t breathe. Maker, he is the cause of this?

_Well, of course, you are, you bloody bastard!_

His first instinct is to go to her, to do what Dorian had suggested and make things right, but the dwarf’s glare stops him. Cullen sighs and turns away to head for the Command tent and work.

 

* * *

 

At least the weather is holding. That’s the best thing Cullen can say for how the return journey is progressing so far.

As is his usual habit, he weaves Vedr alongside and in between the line of horses, carriages, and wagons making its way along the road ringing Lake Calenhad.  He squints at the mountains rising gracefully in the distance, their peaks still capped with snow even this late in the spring. He estimates that they are no more than three days out from the foothills of the Frostbacks.

There, they will turn left to begin winding through the hills, higher and higher, until they reach the mountains themselves. Cullen scans the caravan and furrows his brow as he considers the problems that are sure to crop up with moving such a large force through the mountains. Again, he curses himself for not splitting them into two or three groups.

His eyes fall on Dorian’s carriage. Evelyn sits inside. They’ve yet to speak mostly because her Inner Circle seems to have closed ranks around her. He’s yet to find the opportunity to catch her alone. He growls to himself and kicks Vedr into a trot as he passes by her carriage. How is he supposed to make this right if none of them will let him near her?

Or perhaps she’s told them she wants nothing more to do with him. Reaching the head of the line, he pulls Vedr into place in the front.  He can’t blame her if she has. The words he flung in her face when she was only doing her duty settle in his gut like a poorly digested meal.

_“Perhaps I was wrong to think you were any different from them. You and Lord Hugh will be an excellent match if this is the sort of sacrifice you are willing to make.”_

She’d asked for his support, and he’d turned on her like — like, well, a lion with a sore paw. Dorian had it right. His headaches and body aches from the withdrawals aside, she did not deserve such treatment from him. Her first — and only lover.

Maker, how he misses her, misses her sweet voice calling him dearest and darling, misses the way she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. Sleeping beside her had been — honestly, it had been nice. He’d even managed to get some rest, despite his withdrawals, and for the first time since he can remember.

And now, he’s alone again.

Has he completely lost her? And why does that thought make his heart hurt? Is it simple jealousy over that sniveling fop that has him so wound up? Or could it be something more?

Maker, but she is special. There is no doubt about that. She is beautiful, yes, but she is so much more. He’s had beautiful women before — Void, they throw themselves at him all the time — but Evelyn — Void, he’s never held a fire in his arms like her.

That second night, after her first time, the way she had crawled into his lap, and the sound of her breathy voice saying “I - I want to feel you inside me. I’ve thought about it all day -” was so unexpected so soon after he’d taken her virginity.

She had wanted him. As much as he’d wanted her. Warmth spreads across his lower body as he remembers how soft her skin felt, how she tasted. How she felt wrapped around him. He shifts in his saddle to adjust himself.  Damn it, he’s getting hard just thinking about it.

She called him her darling. More than once. And the way she has been acting, like her heart’s been broken — could she have — feelings — for him?  He frowns and closes his eyes momentarily as he pinches the bridge of his nose. No, it’s not possible. He – he is nothing compared to her. All he has to his name is what he can cobble together with his two hands and the sweat of his back.

She deserves so much more. But, he’d give her Thedas on a silver platter, if he could. His heart swells to think of her, and what he wants to give her. He would worship her. He would make up for everything he lacks by giving her everything he is and more.

Then it hits him like a poleaxe to the gut. The onrush of emotion takes his breath away, gripping his heart and squeezing it.

 _By the Maker, he loves her_. That’s the feeling that’s been clawing at his chest and burning in his gut all this time. Why he wanted to tear apart that Lord Hugh for even looking at her, much less touching her. Why he can’t sleep without her resting beside him. Why his heart aches because he’s made her cry.

Why he needs her like he needs air to breathe.

Shit.

 

* * *

 

 

The following morning finds him rolling out of his bedroll, stiff and aching after another sleepless night.  He rolls his shoulders, wincing at the still-healing bruises Bull had left on his back, damn that Qunari. One more set of aches to add to the rest.

Groaning, he stands and starts putting on his armor.  Another day of silent reproach. Another day of wondering if he had ruined the best thing to have ever happened to him.

Maker, he can’t take this anymore.

He manages to catch her as she is returning to camp from her morning ablutions. Her dark hair is wet from her bath and tucked into her usual neat braid, and her face is wan, her eyes sad. She stiffens when she sees him standing in her path, her eyes darting away from him. He winces at this reaction, longing for that soft look she used to reserve only for him. Maker, how blind he had been!

“I-Inquisitor,” he starts, his cheeks heating, “Might I have a word?”

She rubs her hands over her arms as if she is chilled and looks anywhere but at him. Unease grips his chest. What if she wants nothing more to do with him?

“I — I suppose, Commander.” Her voice is soft,  subdued in a way he has never heard it before. Her full lips tremble a little as if she is fighting tears. Maker, he wants to take her in his arms and kiss those beautiful lips, show her how he feels.  How he would give her the moons if he could, and the sun besides.

But words are what she needs now.  He swallows nervously and licks his lips. He’s never been good with them, stumbling over them at the best of times. Andraste’s tits, how he wishes he had Dorian’s or Varric’s facility with them right now.

“I — I just — I wanted to, “ he sighs and scuffs the dirt with his boot. “I wanted to apologize for my words the other —  other night. I was horrible to you and —, and you did nothing to deserve my anger. I — I hope you will forgive me.”

Her head comes up, and her unusual eyes bore into his, surprise glinting in them. “T-thank you, C-Commander, for realizing that —for recognizing it and for saying — saying you’re sorry.”

His heart sinks at her use of his title. He rubs the back of his head. “Well, then, I should  — I should let you return to your preparations for our journey.”

“Y-yes, thank you.”  She gives him another inscrutable look before turning and heading back to camp.

Cullen’s throat and chest tighten as he watches her walk away from him. That’s it then. There’s his answer. It’s over. Maker, he did ruin it all.

 

* * *

 

Cullen reins Vedr in Skyhold ’s courtyard, fighting to remain sitting tall in the saddle when all he wants to do is slump forward and fall asleep. If he could sleep, that is. He slides out of the saddle and grunts as his feet hit the ground.

He hands the reins off to Skyhold ’s stableboy and starts to turn toward his tower and his bed when he spots her. A tall, golden-haired woman leans indolently against the side of the staircase leading up to the keep, wicked hazel eyes alight with silent mirth. The bloody woman winks at him and steps away from the staircase to approach him.

“Curly! Maker, you look like shit! Redcliffe must not have agreed with you!“ she socks his arm, earning a grunt from him as he glares at her.

“It is nice to see you, too, Hawke,” he drawls, “What are you doing back here? I thought you’d still be looking for those missing Wardens in the Western Approach.”

Hawke’s grin disappears as her expression grows serious. “About that. I have news.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?  I take it this news cannot wait until we’ve had a chance to settle and get cleaned up?”

“No, unless you don’t think a demon army is important,” Hawke crosses her arms over her breasts and gives him an arch look.

Cullen sighs and rubs his forehead. “Maker’s breath, all right. Let me tell the others.”

“No need. I already sent a raven to your Spymaster. They’re in the War Room already. They sent me to bring you.”

“They what? When did you send a raven?” Cullen’s scowl grows thunderous as he considers the implications of this. Is he not a member of the War Council? This— this is beyond unprofessional of them. Does he merit so little respect?  

“About a week ago. Tsk tsk, Commander, don’t you communicate with the other advisors?”

He rolls his eyes. “Let’s go, then,” he grumbles, waiting for her to start up the stairs before following behind her.

Sure enough, Leliana, Josephine, and the Inquisitor are waiting in the War Room when he follows Hawke inside.  Evelyn eyes him as he takes his place in between the other two advisors. He dares to give her a small smile, but her eyes flick away, and she starts fiddling with one of the map markers.

“Commander,” Leliana nods to him, a sly smirk crossing her lips, “glad to see you could make it.”

Cullen crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the Orlesian Seneschal. “Let’s just get on with this meeting, shall we? Hawke, you have news from the Approach?”

Hawke leans over the War Table, plucking up a marker and depositing it over the ancient fortress of Adamant. “The Wardens are here, gathering a demon army, as that Erimond mentioned when we saw him a month ago.”

Evelyn chews on her lip and taps her fingers on the side of the table. “Do we know how close they are to raising this demon army?  How much time do we have?”

All eyes swivel to Hawke who shrugs. “That I don’t know. I think we have to assume that they are close, and that means we need to move on this sooner rather than later.”

“I agree with Hawke,” Cullen says. “This is not a matter to sit on, “ he plucks some markers and arranges them around Adamant, “Adamant is a venerable old fortress, to be sure, but it is no match for our modern siege equipment. A few well-placed trebuchets can bring down the walls.”

“And luckily Lady Cerele of Jader will loan the Inquisition the use of three trebuchets,” Josephine says, making a note on her tablet.

Cullen nods, already making lists of what he needs to do in his head. “That is good to know. I shall begin preparing our forces immediately. There is much to do before we are ready to move on Adamant.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Evelyn says, her eyes running over him curiously before darting away once again. He tries to catch her eye again to offer another smile, but her eyes remain fixed on the map.

“And what about your Mages?” asks Hawke, a sly grin crossing her features.

“What of them?” Cullen retorts sharply. The Inquisitor’s eyes flit between the Champion and the Commander, questions floating in them.  He sighs, preparing for what’s coming.

Hawke looks from Evelyn to him. “Your _Commander_ here may not be prepared to use your mages to their full potential, what with him being a former Templar and all,” she says, and Cullen breathes a sigh of relief. Thank the Maker for small favors; he is not at all ready to tackle the subject of his history with Evelyn, especially not with things the way they currently are between them.

“That won’t be a problem, will it, Commander?” Evelyn looks at him squarely this time, a small, almost imperceptible smile curving her full, pink lips. Maker, he wants to kiss her, not only because he’s been longing to do so since they departed from Redcliffe, but also because there’s a note of confidence in her voice as if she’s sure of his answer.

“Of course not,” he answers, leveling a glare at Hawke, “I have no problem with our Mages. They receive whatever training they require to reach their full potential.”

“See, Lady Hawke?” Evelyn says a note of satisfaction in her voice, her eyes soft as she glances at him. The way she looks at him raises a small sliver of hope in his heart. Maker, might he yet recover what they had before he’d gone and ruined it with his bad-tempered words? “Our Commander is nothing if not thorough in making sure that our forces are trained and ready, including our Mage recruits.”

Hawke shrugs. “Suit yourselves. If we’re done here, I’m headed for the tavern.” She pats her stomach, which is a bit a rounder than it’s ever been since he’s known her. “I’m a mite peckish.”

“We’ll join you,” says Leliana, and she and Josephine walk around the table, linking arms with Hawke. Leliana tosses him a meaningful look over her shoulder before the three women exit the War Room.

After the door closes, an awkward silence stretches between them. Evelyn fidgets with her armor; she has not had a chance to change yet, either. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words catch in his throat.

“I — um —I should go. Excuse me, Commander,” she says, glancing up at him uncertainly. She turns toward the door and pauses there for a moment, as if waiting for him to say something, then opens it and disappears through it.

“Fuck!” he swears, slamming his hand down on the table with enough force to rattle all of the map markers.

_You fool! Why didn’t you tell her how you feel?_

Growling, he rounds the table, opens the War Room doors, and goes after her.


	13. I Found a Moment to be Brave, So I Let Her Know

Perhaps it had been too much to hope that he would say something, but Evelyn’s heart still sinks when she thinks that he hadn’t taken advantage of their solitude to say anything. 

She had thought she could handle this, that heartbreak wouldn’t be the worst fate for her, all things considered. But the whole journey, ever since their row, all she can think is that she would rather face Corypheus and his dragon outside Haven ten times over than feel this ache in her chest, this lingering agony that won’t go away.

_ “He’s an imbecile, if he can’t see a good thing when he has it,” Dorian had told her. _

But she’s not so sure those words have helped. He apologized but her heart still hurts, still longs for him to say more, to tell her - 

He didn’t, though, so all she can assume is that she was right from the start. She was simply in his bed, ready and willing to warm it. And while he may feel guilty about what he said to her, he doesn’t want more. He doesn’t want her, he just wanted a tryst.

At the time she had thought she could handle it, that she wouldn’t feel it so acutely, but she hadn’t quite realized the depths of her feelings for him. At least, not until it was too late.

Heaving a deep sigh, she pulls open the heavy wooden door that leads to the stairs of her chambers and steps inside. She hasn’t had a chance to change out of her armor, and she always loves a soak in her bathtub after a long journey. It’s a chance to clean off the grime, to clean off the weeks away and feel like herself again. Normally she’s washing away battle and horror, but now she hopes that a bath can instead wash away this despair she can’t seem to shake.

The imaginings of a hot, relaxing bath full of her bath oils preoccupies her mind, until she suddenly becomes aware of pounding footsteps behind her.

“Inquisitor - a moment,” a deep voice calls out to her, and her heart immediately jumps into her throat.

The heavy footfalls of the Commander are getting closer behind her, and coupled with her blood rushing in her ears she finds she can’t focus on anything else.

“Inquisitor - if I may speak with you -”

“N-no, we said everything we needed to at the meeting, Commander,” she stutters out, hurrying up the stairs and not looking behind her. “If you don’t mind I’d like some privacy -”

“I must speak with you,” he demands, and as soon as she reaches the top of the stairs she’s aware of the thundering of his footsteps right behind her. Before she can hurry away, his hand grasps her upper arm and spins her to face him. “Evelyn -”

“Let go of me!” she cries, and pushes against his armored chest as hard as she can. It’s no use, though; he’s so much larger than her that he doesn’t even flinch.

“Not until I’ve had my say,” he tells her, and his tone is firm, his brows furrowed into a frown, but she doesn’t feel frightened.

Instead, she feels angry.

“Had your say? What, want to weave more pretty words so that I’ll spread my legs for you?” she snaps, her heart twisting and aching as she says it, again thinking that’s all she was to him.

“What? Evelyn, how could you think that I would -” he begins to protest, and his brows furrow more deeply as he stares at her.

“How could I think you’d what - simply take advantage of the nearest warm body?” she interrupts. “If it had been Josephine or Leliana in that room with you, would you have pressed them for their favor too?”

“How - how could you possibly think so low of me?” he asks, but his voice is rising as he says it. “And might I add - you did not seem so opposed to the idea when you so readily accepted my attentions.”

“Because I - because -” she falters for a moment, biting her tongue to keep herself from confessing the reason for it, the feelings she now knows to be unrequited. Instead she narrows her eyes and lets a scathing glare wander over his features. “Because I thought you cared, but now I know just how wrong I was -”

“I do care,” he says quickly. “More than you realize.”

For a moment her heart simply races as she stares up at him, but an icy feeling returns to the pit of her stomach and she shakes her head. “Apologies if I find that so hard to believe, after you made it clear what you think of my  _ position _ .” The last word is like bitter poison on her tongue, her voice nearly choking on the memory of the things he had said to her.

“If I recall correctly, I apologized for that,” he points out, and the scowl on his face is contorting until he looks almost dangerous. “And I believe I have paid my due, what with everyone in the bloody Inquisition shutting me out and treating me as if I were a blighted Darkspawn. No doubt you made certain to tell them what a boor I was in my anger -”

“I did no such thing!” she protests, but her voice pitches higher as she rushes to deny his assertion. “It’s not my fault you showed your true colors and finally revealed what you really think of me -”

“Is that what you think?” he half-shouts, and his fingers tighten briefly on her arm.

“What else am I supposed to think? You said the words yourself,” she accuses, and her eyes finally begin to fill with tears, forcing her to blink rapidly to clear her vision.

He had said them, had thrown the accusations at her, had compared her to people like Bann Erroll and his self-obsessed son Hugh. She can still picture the look on Cullen’s face, the tone of his voice, the words he flung at her rattling around in her mind until she couldn’t sleep for days, still can’t focus now as she stares at him.

She loves him, and he thinks her no better than a simpering fool trying to rise above their station. She had expected heartbreak, but his lack of confidence and trust hurt her worse than simple and foolish unrequited love.

Cullen opens his mouth to reply, intending to retort, but footsteps on the stairs make them both halt. He releases her arm and turns to face the interloper, his scowl blackening further until he seems to realize who it is.

Three servants are struggling up the stairs, carrying full buckets of steaming water over their shoulders. After a brief moment to bow their heads in her direction they mumble to one another and then continue on. They stop beside the large tub she has set in her chambers and tip the buckets one at a time until it is full.

Cullen’s cheeks are flinching, an obvious twitch showing in his jaw as he watches the servants set to work. He rests his hands on the pommel of his sword, fingers flexing and tightening as he glowers at the preparations being made.

For a moment Evelyn considers asking him to leave, making a point in front of the servants that she’s ready to be alone. And yet she doesn’t, instead thinking about what their argument may lead to, wondering if he’s been telling the truth.

_ I do care, more than you realize. _

The interruption has given her time to absorb his words, and she’s beginning to wonder at the sincerity in his gaze as he said them.

“There you are, my lady,” one of the servants tells her with a bow, and Evelyn almost flinches.

She hates the titles, she hates the pomp and circumstance - she just wants to be, just wants to be Evelyn. Yet no one will allow her to forget any of it, no one will allow her to simply be free, be herself.

Even Cullen, who she had thought would encourage her to be herself, hadn’t been able to see past the arbitrary circumstances of her birth. As she watches the servants almost flee the chamber her insides twist; guilt, shame, and despair gripping her as she thinks everything over. Mistakes, more mistakes than she wants to think about, and she wants to tell him she’s sorry, but she’s still so hurt by his words that the apology won’t come to her lips.

He heaves a sigh and drags his hand across the back of his neck, rolling his head slightly as he nearly groans. “I - I was - that is, I came here to say -”

“Please, Co-Commander, please leave -” she murmurs, but her voice chokes and catches in her throat. She folds her arms across her chest, closing her eyes as she tries to fight the memories, the feelings - she just wants to take her bath and forget everything if she can simply manage it.

“Damn it, Evelyn, would you listen to me?” he snaps suddenly, and she looks up in surprise to find his amber gaze fixated on her, intense as he simply glares. “I’m trying to tell you that I love you, and you keep - you keep - we keep getting interrupted -”

It takes her a moment to realize what he said, a moment for the declaration to sink in. She merely stares, speechless, unable to comprehend or respond as too many feelings simply crash over her.

_ I’m trying to tell you that I love you. _

_ He loves me? _

Her mouth gulps for air, her chin and jaw bobbing as she tries to form the words to reply to his statement, but nothing comes out.

She’s aware that he’s watching her, though, aware that he’s waiting to see her response. As the few short moments drag on, though, his face sinks into a crestfallen expression, and with a deep sigh he shakes his head and begins to turn away.

“Apologies, Inquisitor, for bothering you,” he grumbles, and he begins to make his way to the stairs.

_ Wait. _

_ He loves me. _

“Wait - Cullen,” she says and she hurries forward, gripping one of his arms in her small hand and trying to pull him back. “Don’t - please - wait -”

“And why should I?” he grits out as he turns to face her. “You obviously think the worst of me, why should I linger -”

“Cullen I love you!” she cries, and she throws her arms around his neck. “I love you, I - I’m yours, darling, - if you’ll have me, if you are mine, I’m - I’m yours, love...I’m yours, Cullen.”

Hardly a moment of silence passes before she leans back to glance up at him, wondering how he will respond to her declaration. As soon as she does she sees his golden eyes staring at her, and her breath catches, her heart racing. He had said it, he had told her - but what if he didn’t want -

Her doubt survives hardly a moment before he leans forward and captures her lips with his, pressing gently at first before he twists his mouth to let his tongue slip inside. A soft moan escapes against his lips as she tightens her arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately as she tries to respond to his feverish kiss.

_ He said he loves me. _

She feels lightheaded, not really able to comprehend it, her mind reeling as she tries to come to terms with his impassioned words.

“Maker - Evelyn, I am so sorry,” he murmurs as he pulls away. “I was a fool, a cad - I did not realize - I love you. I love you, sweetheart. I love you so much.”

“Cullen,” she murmurs, and she cups his cheeks with her hands, pulling him down to her to press tender kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. She wants to kiss every inch of him, wants to make certain he knows. “Cullen, love - love, I - I don’t know what to say -”

“Tell me you’re mine again, sweetness,” he murmurs, and his hands twist into her hair. “I want to hear you say it, I - I love you.”

An almost choked sob escapes her when he says it once more and she shakes her head, still batting her eyelashes to keep herself from bursting into tears. “I’m yours, I’m yours - I love you,” she repeats, and his grip on her tightens as he lowers his mouth to hers once more.

The kisses are less hurried, less impatient, and finally he pulls away to smile down at her. He brushes her hair off her face, tenderly stroking her cheek before he presses a kiss to her forehead. “As tempting as your bed looks,” he begins with a smirk, “it would be a shame to let a good bath go to waste.”

She giggles and nods. “You’re right,” she agrees. “After so many days on the road, especially.”

She returns his smile and her heart flutters, still trying to come to terms with what has just happened, with everything they had both said. He continues to smirk at her as he begins to work on the fastenings of his armor, and after only a moment’s hesitation she joins him. They’re quiet except for the sound of buckles and his heavy armor when he sets it gingerly on the stone floor.

Evelyn pauses when she gets down to her smallclothes, suddenly musing at how different it feels to be naked in front of him for something other than lovemaking. But he winks at her as he continues to pull off his many pieces of armor, and she finally strips fully naked so that she can sink into the tub.

The water has cooled slightly since the servants brought it up, but she hesitates with her hand resting on the top of the water. It’s normal for her, she almost always heats her own bath water, yet sudden doubt keeps her from doing it now. After all, he  _ was  _ a Templar.

She waits instead for him to join her, and once he’s naked he casually walks to the tub and sinks into it with a groan, resting his head back on the edge, his arms draped over the rim.

“I - is it all right?” she asks timidly. He peeks one eye open at her, and she gestures at the water. “I can heat it up again, if you - if you want me to.”

Cullen chuckles and nods, closing his eye once more. He looks perfectly relaxed and at ease, and after only one more moment’s hesitation she places her hand on the water and channels fire magic into it

“Mmm, sweetheart, that’s perfect,” he purrs, and he finally opens his eyes to give her a wide smile as she lifts her hand from the surface of the water.

Evelyn giggles and reaches over the edge of the tub for her bath oils and soap. She sets to work with the bar of soap, trying to wash the days of traveling on the road from her skin. Cullen stays relaxed, but his eyes are open, intently following the movements of the soap.

“You keep giggling,” he murmurs, the scarred corner of his mouth tugging up as his amber gaze searches her face.

“I’m - happy,” she says. “But also this - I’ve never - I’m just feeling a little shy, bathing like this in front of you.”

“Why?” he chuckles and shakes his head. “You are incredibly beautiful, Evelyn, and I am enjoying the view.”

More giggles escape her and he smiles when he hears them. “I know, that’s the part that’s making me feel - this is all still so new to me, it feels more intimate than making love.”

As she says it she gives him a sheepish glance and then dips her head beneath the water to wet the rest of her long hair. When she reaches for the bath oil she uses he finally sits forward and takes the delicate glass bottle from her hands.

“Allow me, love,” he tells her softly, and she bites her lower lip as she nods. “Turn around.”

With careful maneuvering she manages to turn in the tub so that her back is to him, and he scoots until she is between his legs. His fingers are gentle, rubbing the oil into her scalp and her hair, and she closes her eyes as she enjoys the way he’s massaging away the tension and grime that came from traveling.

“Your hair is lovely, sweetheart,” he says as he continues his ministrations. “I’ve always admired it.”

“Always?” she repeats tentatively.

He chuckles and his breath tickles her ear, and she realizes he’s leaned forward until his face is beside hers. “Yes, since that moment I first saw you on the battlefield, after you cast your barrier to protect me.”

A smile comes to her face and she leans back against his chest. “I noticed you too, although I will admit you were quite intimidating at first.”

His laughter reverberates through them both where she leans against him, and he nuzzles her neck before he briefly tugs her earlobe with his teeth. “You do not still find me so terrifying, do you?”

“Maybe when you’re angry,” she teases softly.

“I am sorry, Evelyn -”

“I wasn’t - I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” she glances at him over her shoulder and sits forward once more. “I forgive you, love. And I’m - I’m sorry too.”

His scar pulls up with his crooked grin once more as he reclines against the edge of the tub. “And I forgive you too, sweetheart.”

She nods and begins rinsing her hair, noticing that the water has chilled slightly once more. Without a second thought she reheats it with her magic, and again he simply groans with satisfaction when he feels the heat.

“How are you feeling?” she asks tentatively. “You - while we were traveling, you seemed as if you were suffering headaches or something -”

“I am fine, love,” he assures her, perhaps a little too quickly. “Just tired and stressed, ensuring everyone made it back to Skyhold without any trouble. Really, I am fine.”

Evelyn purses her lips and turns to face him once more, letting her gaze roam over his face. She isn’t sure she believes him, but she also doesn’t know how to press the matter. Instead she sighs and then reaches for the oil. “Your turn,” she tells him, gesturing for him to shift in the tub.

He quirks an eyebrow at her but with a twinkle in his eye he dunks his head under the water and wets his hair. He then stands and turns on the spot before he sinks in the water once more, presenting his back to her.

“Maker - Cullen, what happened to your back?” she asks, trailing her fingers over the faded green and purple bruising across the expanse of his shoulders.

“That Qunari bodyguard of yours seemed more than a touch concerned at how much you had been crying,” he grouses, rolling his shoulders as if they still pain him.

“Poor darling,” she coos, and he grumbles under his breath. “If you’d like, I can heal it for you.”

“That is not necessary, love, I am fine -”

“Please, Cullen, let me take care of you,” she insists, lightly rubbing her hand over his skin.

A moment’s silence passes and he looks over his shoulder at her as he nods. “Thank you, Evelyn.”

She presses both hands to his shoulders, focusing on the magic she’s conjuring to her fingers as she gently massages the fading injuries. Healing isn’t her strongest school, though she’s put more effort into practicing it since she began fighting for the Inquisition. She concentrates as she channels it into his skin and muscles, increasing the pressure of her touch as she works.

A deep moan sounds as Cullen lets his head hang, his shoulders relaxing as the bruises and tension begin to fade.

“Is that better, darling?” she murmurs.

“Yes - Maker, love, that feels wonderful,” he sighs. “Much better.”

“Good,” she smiles as she finishes healing the last of the bruising, and she leans forward and presses a kiss to the space between his shoulder blades. “Anytime you need me, dearest, all you have to do is ask.”

He chuckles and rolls his shoulders again. “I will keep that in mind.”

Reaching for the oil once more she pours some into her hand and then begins to work it into his wet curls. His hair is soft and thick, and she smiles to herself as she twists her hands in it, massaging his scalp as she works. The occasional moan and deep sigh of appreciation reach her ears, obvious signs of his enjoyment that he doesn’t try to hide from her.

“I cannot remember the last time I felt so relaxed,” he sighs. “You are too good to me, sweetness.”

She giggles and twirls some of his curls in her fingers, getting them to stand up and out, giggling harder until he glances over his shoulder at her.

“Having fun?” he asks, but there’s a playful smirk on his face, a happy and mischievous gleam in his eyes as he takes in the sight of her mirth.

“Yes, I am,” she tells him, smiling sweetly. “Unless I’m bothering you?”

“Not at all,” he assures her, and he turns his head away once more and allows her to continue her playful cleansing.

When her fingers finally tire she leans forward and presses another kiss to his spine, allowing the pressure to linger before she pulls away. “All clean,” she informs him.

“Thank you, love,” he sighs, and he stands and shifts so that he is facing her once more before he dunks himself. When he reemerges he wipes the water from his eyes and then suddenly shakes his head, sending droplets flying everywhere.

“Cullen!” she shrieks, covering her face as she giggles.

“Sorry love, did I get you?” he asks, and when she peeks between her fingers at him she sees the wicked smirk he’s giving her.

“You -” she scolds playfully, and she dips a hand into the water and flings it, scooping as much as she can to splash into his face.

He splutters for a moment and then looks at her once more, an intense sparkle coming into his eyes. “Little minx,” he growls, and he snatches her by the wrists and pulls her into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around her to prevent her being able to wriggle away from him. She squeals, water sloshing in waves over the sides of the tub onto the stone beneath it.

“Cullen - we’re getting water everywhere -” she chides, but he seems suddenly preoccupied, sliding his hands lower to cup her rear to shift her further up his body.

“The floor will dry,” he murmurs, and he presses his lips to hers. His hot mouth trails down her throat, his hands sliding to her legs to spread them and reposition her until she’s straddling him.

Her gasp turns quickly to a moan when she feels that he’s hard, and she rolls her hips against him as soon as she notices. “L-love, I -” but she doesn’t really comprehend what she’s saying. Instead she rakes her fingers through his damp hair and searches out his mouth with hers, letting her tongue slide against his as she grinds her hips in his lap.

In a sudden swift motion Cullen stands, water overflowing and splashing against the stone and edges of the tub. He holds her in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, and carefully steps out of the tub, walking slowly to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he purrs when he pulls away from the kiss for a moment. He slides one hand between her legs, spreading her folds and stroking his fingers along her. It’s like lightning, the feeling of his touch on her once more making her cry out and cling more tightly to him.

“I missed you too,” she gasps, slanting her mouth against his to kiss him deeply. 

He moves his hands to her hips and lifts her, angling her until he can thrust up into her. As he guides her until she covers him he groans loudly and she lets out a little, breathless cry. “This, especially, sweetness - I missed you tight and wet around me, like you were made for me.”

“Cullen,” she moans, grasping the back of his neck and searching out his mouth with hers. 

Her kiss is hungry, needy, the ache she’d felt the whole time they traveled disappearing as fullness takes its place. His hands brace under her rear and squeeze, and taking the hint she begins to move, rolling and rocking her hips as he directs her. Their mouths never part, twisting and sucking as if they can drink one another in if they only kiss each other deeply enough.

At first her pace is even as they languidly enjoy one another, but the feelings they confessed tangle with the reunion of their bodies. Soon she begins to bounce herself on him faster, desperately seeking the release she’s missed, the feelings so new to her and yet so natural with him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises, breaking away from the kiss to watch her face.

“Maker - darling, I -” she mewls, clenching her eyes shut as she rolls her hips, feeling pushed nearly to the edge.

His mouth twists into a smirk but he moans, his head leaning back on his shoulders for a moment before he moves his fingers to swirl against her pearl. It happens almost immediately, a surprised gasp and cry of his name escaping her lips as she falls apart, clinging to him tightly as if for dear life. The sounds of his deep moans and the way he thrusts up to meet her herald his release, and she continues rocking against him as he finishes.

After several moments she gradually stills and he leans forward to capture her lips, his arms tight around her as he steals her breath with a deep kiss.

“Love,” he purrs when he pulls away suddenly. “I have never had anyone like you, no one has ever - felt so right.”

Evelyn giggles and presses soft kisses to his lips. “I love you, Cullen. I - I didn’t think you could ever love me too, but - I’m so happy you do.”

“I am happy as well, love,” he murmurs. “Happier than I can remember ever being.”

He seals his words with another kiss, and then tightens his hold on her and pulls them both back onto the pillows to recline. She settles on his shoulder, happy to be back where she belongs, marveling at how content she feels. It’s as if the fight never happened, as if things have never been better. But she remembers his anger and she frowns, suddenly curious.

“Darling?” she asks tentatively.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he answers lazily.

“May I ask - why - why were you so angry?” she tilts her head up to look into his face. “You helped craft the alliance, did you not?”

“What?” he frowns and looks down at her, clearly at a loss in response to her question.

“Leliana and Josephine told me, they said - it was the plan, to -” she trails off when he simply looks more confused. “Didn’t they - weren’t you involved? I thought surely you knew what was being planned with the arrangement.”

“The - no, they did not tell me a thing,” he shakes his head and lifts a hand to rest on his brow, rubbing it as if he suddenly has a headache.

“Oh,” she gasps, realization dawning on her. “No wonder you were so - I thought you knew, I assumed you helped plan it, I never realized, I never thought - it all makes so much sense.”

“Do you mind filling me in on this plan, then?” he queries, raising an eyebrow as he peers down at where she rests on his shoulder.

“I’m not really going to marry him, darling,” she answers simply. “We’ve agreed to it now, but down the line - surely there is something else Bann Erroll would rather have, something we could use to entice him away from the alliance. I - I won’t be married off to that fool.”

He stares at her for a long moment, and then clenches his eyes shut and leans his head back on the pillows again with a groan. “If I had been told, a great deal of strife could have been prevented,” he grumbles.

“I’m so sorry, love, I - I assumed the three of you had come up with the plan together, they presented it to me as if my advisors had all agreed to it,” she shrugs and then strokes his chest where her hand is laying. “If I had known they didn’t consult you I would have simply told you, I promise. I - that explains so much.”

She giggles to herself a little, shaking her head and nuzzling her face into his chest.

“You are right, it does,” he sighs. “I am glad at least now I know. I - I do not want you to marry him, love. I cannot bear the thought.”

“You won’t have to,” she assures him. “I love you, Cullen.”

“And I you,” he murmurs, tightening his arms around her.

His deep breathing lulls her gently to sleep, feeling more content and peaceful than she has in weeks now that she’s back in his arms.


	14. Could You Love Me Anyway?

Cullen glares at Hawke across his desk,  his arms crossed over his chest. “Be reasonable! This is not the time for rash action!”

"Commander, we're not just talking about one blood mage," Hawke folded an arm across her chest, gesturing with the hand of her other to emphasize her point. "We're talking about the Grey Wardens summoning a _demon army_. We can't wait for the nobles to get off the thumbs up their asses. We need to move on the fortress  — now."

“And how do you propose that we get into that fortress?  Fly in on winged gryphons?” he waves one hand in the air. “No, we wait for the trebuchets,” he picks up a report and quickly thumbs through it. “According to the Ambassador,  they should arrive in a fortnight.”

"A fortnight?" she scoffs at him, her eyebrows high on her forehead. "And by then perhaps Corypheus will have the demon army that the Inquisitor saw in the future. Andraste's tits, Curly, are we supposed to just sit and - let this happen? Surely not, surely you're as angry about this as I am."

“By the Maker, Hawke, are you questioning my commitment to this cause?” Cullen growls, his brows sharply furrowed as he leans over the maps on his desk, his hands clenched into twin fists.

"Just your methods," Hawke tells him, but it almost sounds like an exasperated sigh. "I just - a fortnight could cost us everything." Her hand ghosts over her stomach and then she clears her throat. "I just hope we aren't sacrificing Thedas for some nobles' pride, that's all. Getting a start now, heading out as soon as we can — I believe that is the best route."

Cullen’s eyebrows go up as he scrutinizes the woman more closely. There is something different about her — something softer — even as her gold-flecked hazel green eyes challenge him like they always have in the past. He sighs and runs an exasperated hand through his hair, glancing at Rylen, damn him, who is just standing there smirking as if he’s enjoying the show.

“I care little for the sentiments of nobles, but we _must_ have that siege equipment. Without it, we have no way of penetrating the fortress. On this, I cannot compromise. I will not allow our forces to march into a death trap!”

Hawke gives an audible sigh and rolls her eyes, but her arms seem to tighten across her chest as she scuffs her armored boot on the stone floor of his office. "As you say," she grumbles, an odd look in her gaze when she raises it to his. "Commander."

“Now that that’s settled,” Rylen interrupts the angry retort on Cullen’s lips, “can we please move on?” He gives Cullen a nod. “It’s a good plan.”

Cullen tosses a hard stare at his Captain before shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Maker, they’ve been at this all morning, and his head is already splitting. “All right,” he says, pointing at an area on the map near Adamant. “We will make camp here and launch our attack from —“

The sound of the door directly in front of his desk swinging open interrupts him and in strides the Inquisitor, a sweet smile on her beautiful face. His eyes soften, and a helpless grin splits his face.  

“Ev — Inquisitor! We — we were just planning our assault on Adamant. Was there something you needed?”

"Just to let you know luncheon was ready, Commander," she says before smiling even more brightly. "You've all been working all day, I think it's time you took a break, don't you?"

“You may be right,” he finds himself agreeing with her, mesmerized by the way her black hair falls around her shoulders in soft, crimped waves as if she recently removed it from its usual braid. His eyes sweep her form, taking in the way the cut of her bodice enhances the upper curves of her breasts and the flirty flare of her skirt makes him wonder what she’s wearing underneath. “Ah — I believe we’ve done enough for today,” he says, his eyes flicking to Hawke and Rylen in turn before returning to admire his beloved.

Rylen smirks knowingly, but Cullen pays him no mind. “Come on, then, Hawke, I’ll buy you lunch at the tavern.  I’ll introduce you to my Abigail while we’re there. I believe the Commander wants a word with the Inquisitor. Alone.”

Hawke hesitates a moment, looking between the Commander and his Captain before a wry smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "I'd love to meet your Abigail, Captain. Especially since I suddenly feel less than welcome by Curly, here."

Cullen barely gives the pair a second glance as they exit his office. Instead, he comes around to the front of his desk and perches on its edge. He holds his arms out to her, and she steps forward into his embrace eagerly, lifting her face up for his kiss.

His arms close around her, hugging her tightly as he slants his mouth across hers, his tongue slipping between her parted lips to caress hers, at first gently, then with more passion as her arms circle his neck and her fingers fist in his hair.

“Hello,” he murmurs between kisses, brushing his nose against hers.

“Hello,” she returns, kissing the scarred corner of his lips.

“I was hoping you’d stop by. I missed you,” he shifts to settle her between his thighs, letting her perch on one, his hand coming up to cup her side under one full breast. He’s glad he decided to forgo his armor today in favor of a light shirt and his usual leather breeches. Her warm curves snuggle perfectly in his embrace, encouraging heat to pool in his belly.

She giggles. “But you saw me only a few hours ago,”  her fingers trail along his stubbled jaw. Maker, he’ll never tire of her girlish laughter. He wants to make her do it again and again.

He raises a playful eyebrow. “Exactly. A few hours is much too long to go without your presence, my love.” She beams at him and giggles again, and his heart expands to fill his chest, his head spinning from the retreating blood rushing south.

“And what will you do when I have to leave Skyhold, then?” she arches a delicate eyebrow, pulling back to look at him.

He heaves a mock mournful sigh and puts on a sad expression. “Pine away listlessly in my tower window until you return to me, of course!”

“Oh, you will not!” she scoffs, the corners of her lips twitching upward, “you’ll probably spend it calibrating the trebuchets or scaring the new recruits to death.”

He smirks. “Oh, but even as I go about my duties, “ he shifts his hand up so that he can gently squeeze her breast, “I shall be pining for you nonetheless, my love.”

She giggles again, but then her eyes turn serious as her fingers trace the crease between his brows and the lines on his forehead.

“How are you feeling today, darling? You look tired.”

He sighs, and an ache starts in the pit of his stomach. “Sweetheart, I’m fine.”  He pushes her off his lap and gets to his feet as he scrubs his face wearily. “I —I have a bit of a headache, please do not worry.”

Evelyn frowns and a worried wrinkle appears on her smooth forehead. “You always have a headache, Cullen. Tell me what’s going on.” Her pale eyes pierce his as if she’s trying to pull the truth out of him. He looks away, staring down at the stone pavers as an itch tickles his spine, making a shiver quake through him. “Cullen, please tell me, darling. I want to help.”

Cullen swallows past the lump in his throat and lifts his eyes to hers again. He has to tell her. About the bloody lyrium at the very least. “Actually,” he begins, stepping toward her and brushing back a strand of her black hair, “I do have something I must tell you.”

She smiles at him encouragingly. “I’m listening, darling.”

“You asked me once what happened in Ferelden’s Circle,” he looks away from her, unable to hold her gaze. “There was a Senior Enchanter there  — his name was Uldred. He — at first he tried to get the Circle to support Loghain Mac Tir against the Wardens, and when that did not work, and he could not leave to join Loghain, he —“ Cullen shuts his eyes, struggling to keep his breathing under control,  for his heart to stop trying to climb out of his chest “—he resorted to blood magic. He used it to take over the Circle.”

“It’s all right, darling,” she tells him, one hand coming up to rub his chest in gentle circles, “take your time.”

He stares at her as a hole to rival the Breach pierces his gut. Maker, how can she have so much compassion for him?  He bloody well doesn’t deserve it, not with everything he has done. Cullen steps away from her, turning away, so he doesn’t have to see her expression change from understanding to disgust.

Swallowing down the acid burning in his throat, he continues.  “Uldred and his blood mages were holding the First Enchanter up in the Harrowing Chamber at the very top of the tower,” he risks a glance at her over his shoulder. She stands just behind him, her brow furrowed,  empathy shining in her eyes. He closes his eyes as a cold sweat forms on his back and beads on his forehead. “Knight-Commander Gregoir sent the Knight-Captain and a squad of Templars up there to regain control. I was with that group. And out of the entire squad of good,” his voice catches as he turns back to her, “good men, I — I was the only survivor.”

"Oh Cullen," she says, stepping closer to peer up at him, wide-eyed. "Maker, I - I am so sorry, love. I had no idea."

He shrugs, wiping his brow. “I have never spoken of this with anyone else  — anyway,” he starts pacing back and forth in front of her. “Uldred captured us and put us in _cages._ We had no food. No water. And no lyrium. One by one, my fellows fell and were taken away. I — I can still hear their screams. And then it was just me.  I was tortured —“ he takes a ragged breath “—they tried to break my mind, and Maker knows how I resisted for so long. Had the Hero of Ferelden not come when she did — well, I am certain I would not be standing before you today.

“I was not the same person after that — how can you be?  Still, I wanted to serve, so after a short time at Greenfell,  I was transferred to Kirkwall. I — I was not a good man during the years I spent there. I allowed Knight-Commander Meredith to use my anger over what had happened to me and my fear of magic to blind me to the abuses going on in the Circle.” He circles his desk and leans against the window, his words heavy, weariness beating down on him. “It was not until Hawke stood with the Mages after the Chantry exploded that I joined her against Meredith, who by then had gone well and truly mad.”

"Cullen," she says, coming to stand beside him and placing her hand on his arm, "you are not responsible for another's actions. What they did to you — what your Knight-Commander did to you, it's - it's not your fault."

He glares at her and shakes his head vehemently. “You do not understand, Evelyn. Had you been in that Circle, I am not sure I would have cared about you — and that thought sickens me.” He snarls this out, curling his upper lip in disgust.

“But I wasn’t,” she insists, her eyes soft and full of love. It wrecks him, this look. It utterly destroys him, because he will never be good enough to deserve it. “And Cullen, you’re a good man. Even good men make mistakes. You learn from them and move on.”

He sighs and turns to her, taking her hands and lifting them to his mouth to kiss her fingers. ”Thank you, love, but I know who I am. I cannot change my past, but I would atone for my many sins, and it is partly in service to this that I — you know Templars use lyrium, yes?”

"Yes, of course, Cullen," she answers, but her brows quirk into a soft frown as she peers up at him.

“We have a steady supply for the Templars here, but I —“ he hesitates “— I no longer take it.”

“What?” she squeezes his hand reassuringly. “ But — Cullen, couldn’t this kill you?”

He returns her squeeze and tries a weak smile. “It hasn’t yet. It’s been months now.”

Her delicate brows draw together as she holds his gaze intently. “Then, the — the headaches — they’re from the withdrawal?”

“Yes, but,” he sighs, pulling his hands free and frowning down at her, “you need not worry over me. You have other matters to concern yourself with. I can endure it.”

“Cullen,” she says, reaching up and gripping his chin firmly. ”You don’t have to endure this alone. I love you.”

He rubs his forehead, too tired to argue with her. “All right,” he concedes, “I will try. But there is one last thing you should know.”

She squeezes his arm. “I’m still here, and I am listening,” she tells him, a reassuring smile crossing her lips.

“Right,” he nods and exhales a breath, “when — when I made the decision to quit lyrium, I spoke with Cassandra about it. She was entrusting me with a leadership role, and I would not put the Inquisition at risk.” He looks down at his boots, color staining his cheeks. ”We decided that she would keep an eye on me. She knows the signs and should I become incapacitated. I will be replaced as Commander.”

She smiles up at him, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “I’m certain that won’t be necessary, darling.  I think you’re very brave for doing this, and I know you will succeed.” She narrows her eyes when she catches him rubbing his forehead again. “Come on, you, let’s take care of that headache. You need to lie down and rest for a while.”

“What? No, Evelyn,” he protests, recoiling from her. “I cannot nap in the middle of the day! I have work to do!”

"And I need my Commander in tip-top shape," she chides him gently. "Skyhold and the Inquisition won't fall apart if you let yourself get a little sleep, love."

“Fine,” he grumbles, throwing up his hands and heading for the ladder to his loft. This is one argument he isn’t going to win. Damned stubborn woman. As he climbs the ladder, however, a smirk crosses his lips. Damned stubborn woman who loves him, despite his past.

The sight of his bed makes Cullen yawn. Perhaps a nap isn’t such a bad idea, after all. He starts pulling off his shirt as Evelyn steps off the ladder and into his lofted bedroom.

“Are you going to nap with me, love?” he asks as he drops his breeches and climbs under the covers, sighing as his weary head hits the pillows.

“I don’t know about napping, but I will stay, at least until you fall asleep,” she tells him as she scoops up her skirt and settles beside him on the bed. “Rest, love, I am right here,” she starts carding her fingers through his hair, and he groans because it feels heavenly.

“I love you,” he says, letting his head sink further into his pillow. He closes his eyes and lets the Fade overtake him as he feels her brush her lips across his forehead.

The light touch of fingers trailing across his bare chest brings him out of slumber. He opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. Evelyn is stretched out on her side, her head propped up on one arm while the other hand traces whorls in his chest hair, her eyes luminous in the sunlight pouring through the hole in his roof and dappling the bed and the surrounding floorboards.

“Evelyn,” he whispers drawing her eyes to meet his. She smiles softly,  her beautiful face wreathed in love.

“How are you feeling, darling?” she brushes back the locks of his hair tumbling across his forehead.

He gives her a soft smile and reaches across his chest to cup her delicate cheek in one large hand. “Much better, sweetheart. The nap helped.”

“No more headache?” she asks, a tiny wrinkle of concern marring the smooth skin of her forehead as she reaches out to trace his eyebrows one by one with her fingers.

“Gone,” he confirms and watches as a relieved smile curves the corners of her rosy lips upward.  

His chest tightens, restricting his breathing, and his vision narrows until all he can see is her, lying beside him, her beautiful black hair hanging in soft waves over her shoulders and the curves of her breasts fairly bursting above the neckline of her dress.

He rolls on top of her, holding his weight on one strong arm as he cups her chin with his other hand and captures her lips in a passionate kiss.  Her arms wind around his neck and her fingers thread through his hair as his tongue slides past her parted lips, brushing against hers as he drinks her in.

He drops her chin to slide his hand down to cup one of her breasts, and she moans into his mouth, arching into his touch.  His cock is rock hard and already leaking fluid as he presses it against her heat, his balls tight and heavy.

He releases her mouth to suck her earlobe. “I need you,” he breathes in her ear.

“I need you, too,” she tells him, her hand trailing down his muscular back, lighting a fire under his skin everywhere she touches.

“Let’s get rid of this,” he starts tugging down her dress and she giggles as she helps him get it off her. Then, she is lying naked under him, and sweet Andraste, but she is perfect, from her blushing cheeks to her coral-tipped breasts, to the shadowed cleft between her legs that’s already dewy with her excitement.

Maker, how did he get so lucky?

She smiles up at him, pink lips parting to reveal white teeth as perfect as the rest of her. She slides her hands up his thighs to grip his hips. “Make love to me, darling,” she entreats, passion darkening her eyes.

Heat blooms in his groin and arse as his golden amber gaze travels over her body, so ready and willing. His heartbeat accelerates, and his breathing roughens just from the sight of her.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he croons as he settles himself between her thighs, pressing the engorged head of his cock against her entrance.  He rubs it up and down her slit while his other hand plays with her pearl, coaxing little mewls of pleasure from her as her hips rock against him. “So beautiful — Maker,” he closes his eyes and groans as he slides inside her. “So tight. You feel so good, sweetness.”

Grunting, he lifts one of her legs and lifts it to rest on his broad shoulder. “Oh, yes, that’s it,” he sighs as he settles himself deeper within her and groans as her walls close around him. Sliding his hand down her thigh, he finds her pearl again and begins flicking his thumb over it, enjoying how it makes her shiver and clench around him.

“Cullen, I’m going to —“ she cries out suddenly.

“Yes, love, come for me,” he encourages, his thumb inscribing tight circles on her nub. He pulls back, then slams into her, driving himself against the entrance to her womb. Her inner muscles flex, and she tremors and screams his name as her end finds her. His eyes slide shut as he relishes the way her orgasm bathes him in her slick. Maker, he loves how she sounds when he makes her come, for there is no better sound in Thedas than that.

Cullen leans down and kisses her,  showing her with lips, teeth, and tongue how much he fucking adores her.  She is his sun and the only star in his night sky; she is his end and his beginning. In her shimmering eyes, he is reborn.

“Oh, Evelyn, my sweet Evelyn!” he throws back his head and bellows as his own orgasm overtakes him. His hips stutter, and his skin flushes pink from his throat all the way down to his pulsating cock as warmth floods him. He grunts as he spills his seed inside her welcoming folds,  every ounce of energy draining from him and leaving him deliciously exhausted.

Enough of his senses remain that he shifts just enough to avoid crushing her with the weight of his body as he collapses on the mattress beside her, completely spent. He pulls her into his arms and kisses her hair as his eyes drift shut.

“I love you, Evelyn,” he whispers, nuzzling her hair.

“I love you, too,” she returns as she drapes an arm across his trembling stomach and buries her head in his shoulder.


End file.
